


Facing the Flames

by Probably_Not_Batman



Series: Rebellion [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Blood, Death, Dissociation, Eridan is no longer a captain, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mentions of Slavery, Multi, No Game AU, POV Alternating, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Rebels, Reconciliation, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Torture, sorta - Freeform, sudden memes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-02-14 17:16:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13012452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Probably_Not_Batman/pseuds/Probably_Not_Batman
Summary: (Sequel to Burned into Memory)After quite literally crashing and burning in his time as Captain, Eridan finds himself at the mercy of an infamous rebellion that forces him to take a long look at his past. When it proves to be closer than it appears, will he be able to brave the memories, or will they burn him to ash?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to Act Two of the Rebellion Series!  
> Like the first one, this will alternate between Eridan and Mituna's POV, starting off with the latter's this time.  
> This story will be a bit grittier and darker than "Burned into Memory", but I'll try to warn of things ahead of time.  
> For this first chapter, TW for blood, violence, panic attacks, reference to violence/self harm and reference to death

The first things Mituna noticed upon waking was the lightness of his limbs, the absence of pain at his ports and the…emptiness of his head. Panic jolted through him and suddenly he was floating in the middle of an unfamiliar room. His mind reached, spread itself out and slammed itself against the barrier that was his own skull before snapping back as an ache began to build in his chest, in his mind. He lifted his hands, watching them tremble in front of his sparking eyes.

They looked unfamiliar, the dark gray skin clinging to the bones beneath. His fingers were long and thin, his palms decorated with patterns of light scars. They didn’t feel real, a tiny voice yelling at him to sink his claws into the flesh and see if he could feel it, if he could prove this body to be his own. Instead he watched in fascination as the fists clenched under his command, one straightening a moment later as he grabbed his wrist. He could feel warmth, the erratic beating of his panicked pusher and the rough patches where scars raised themselves against his skin. The hand moved up his arm, pausing as it met something that was definitely not skin.

Mituna blinked slowly, conscious of each breath as he followed the path along his arm. Where the first port should be, a swath of mustard stained bandages covered the skin. He pressed his fingers gently against the area, searching for the metal rings that edged his ports, the baring of his nerves as a point of connection for the bioware. He found none, only feeling an ache, this one physical, pricking under the covering. The pain was…muffled in a way that part of him was grateful for. The other part wanted to rip the numbness away, even if it was agonizing he wanted to feel it, if only to prove that he could.

His hand kept moving, sliding over the bandages that covered the second port, and the third. As his fingers reached his shoulder, he shuddered at another patch of raised skin. A sign, _his_ sign, overlaid with that of the Empress, both forever etched into his skin by black ink. The sign of her ship, a claim of his very identity and his purpose as her Helmsman. He was surprised that it had been left, though it only proved that she had never fully set him free of her claws, her shadow still meaning to pull at his strings even as he flew a ship galaxies from her own. There was a burning, painful need to destroy the image and he was barely able to keep his claws from tearing it away.

The shaking of his hands grew worse as he moved to examine his spine, the ports there similarly covered, similarly numb. It was beginning to sink in, as both a lightness in his pusher and a heavy, dragging weight in his stomach. He was free. The mutiny hadn’t been a dream, neither had the crash. He blinked again, his hands moving to his own face. The sharp bones of his cheeks pressed against the skin, the line of the scars his goggles had left mostly healed and very apparent against his fingertips. He drew in a long, trembling breath as his hands gripped his hair and his eyes squeezed shut. Where was he? What had happened?

He reached for the memories, only to be reminded of the vast emptiness of his own mind. He was so…small now, instinctively searching for systems that no longer existed, for cameras he was no longer attached to. He was tiny, his mind violently shoving at the limit of his own consciousness, trapped by the very nature of being simply a troll. Freedom was suffocating, his limbs folding in as tightly as they could. The ship had been so much smaller than the Empresses, but at least he hadn’t lost anything but space. Now, it felt like an entire part of him had vanished, had been carved away and left him with a mind both too full and too achingly empty. He knew what the systems felt like, the information on them like a memory of a memory, foggy and unreadable.

A movement barely registered in the corner of his vision, though the hand that wrapped around his wrist was more than enough to get his attention. He uncurled quickly, fear powering the sparks that audibly cracked throughout the room. The fingers on him uncurled, a squeak exiting the intruder as they were thrown back.

He landed a few feet away, eyes wide and ears pinned back. Everything about his posture screamed fear, his shoulders hunched as he scooted back with his feet scrambling against the dust coated ground. “I’m sorry!” he practically whimpered, breaths short and shaking.

The panic in Mituna’s blood dulled, the psionics around him pulling back into the faint cloud that kept him airborne. He shook his head to clear it, finally taking in the room around him. It was more like a tent, the dull fabric draped over a simple frame. The floor was mostly bare ground, a few beast skins laid out as rugs. The only furniture was the simple platform tucked to one side, a blanket and pillow crumpled on it. He must have been sleeping there, but that didn’t answer how he got here, or even where here was.

He looked back to the unfamiliar face, the troll having slowly stood and brushed the dirt from his pants. There was the faintest trace of fear left on his face, but most of it was hidden behind the… shyness? Uncertainty? He looked almost in awe, though Mituna couldn’t imagine why.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice steadier now, though still quiet. “I didn’t mean to startle you, Psiioniic.”

The title made him pause, something he hadn’t heard in…well it had been a long while. He frowned, studying the other troll.

He was a rust blood, old enough for the color to bleed into his eyes with fluffy hair that threatened to cover his face and horns that split at the ends. He wore simple shorts and a shirt that bore his sign, his claws picking at a thick leather bracelet emblazoned with a sign of rebellion as he waited for the psion to speak.

“It’th…fine,” Mituna finally said, watching the tension drain from the other’s shoulders as a barely audible breath of relief escaped him. The wide eyes, shining with wonder and curiosity, made him a tad uncomfortable, but the silence wasn’t drawn out for long.

“Are you _really_ him?” the troll asked, his head tilting slightly. Mituna’s expression must have looked sufficiently blank, because after only a moment he clarified. “ _The Psiioniic._ ” He spoke the title with almost reverence, his ears perking as he went on. “The figure of legend who stood beside the Signless? Who became Helmsman to the Empress?”

Mituna internally flinched, his face flickering with pain at the mention of the Signless, the bloodstained memories threatening to overwhelm him. He didn’t speak, only nodding, the slightest motion of his head.

The other’s eyes only grew wider, his hands clasping in front of him. “I- I apologize for any doubts. It’s just…for all the stories of the rebellions before us- all the tales of _you_ \- it was… still hard to believe. It sounded like a fairytale, and even though it wasn’t I certainly never thought I’d ever have the honor of _meeting_ you.” He pressed his hands to his mouth for a moment. “I’m sorry. I’m rambling. I was told to check in and Kaputi should be here soon. He’s a little busy at the moment.” There was a long moment of silence before the rust cleared his throat, his eyes down. “…if you don’t mind me asking…why…um…n-nevermind.”

Mituna’s brow furrowed, still uncomfortable but willing to listen as long as it meant he didn’t have to be alone with his own screaming mind. “What ith it?”

“…the ship you were on, the one that crashed into the lake, by the beach where we found you, it… wasn’t the Empresses.”

His voice faltered slightly. “I…there wath a…change of command. I wath plathed into an exthploration ship due to her…whimth I thuppothe. I’m only- we were only coming back Becauthe the Captain-“ He cut off, eyes wide.

The memory of tearing metal filled his mind, of psionic walls holding back metal ones from crush him and the violet held against his chest. The violet who handed him a rebreather and who’s entire form quaked at the thought of swimming through the water that slowly claimed the ship. He could remember plucking him from the water, of feeling sand beneath him for only a moment before blacking out. The rebels must have found him, must have found the survivors. He’d seen Marion, Bruete, Coryan, Aphina and-

“Eridan,” he said suddenly, his psionics making the loose material of the tent flap around them.

Confusion crossed the other troll’s face. “Who?”

“Eridan,” he repeated, watching as the other’s hair began to stand on end. “Where ith he? I know he got to the beach- the Captain.”

There was an understanding that lit in the maroon eye’s, his hands lifting placatingly. “Oh! You don’t need to worry about your Captain. He won’t be able to bother you. You’re free, completely.”

He didn’t understand, of course he didn’t. Why would he? He didn’t know Eridan was the one who freed Mituna, who came back for him. The one who saw the Helmsman slipping from his own identity and dragged him back, who encouraged him to talk not for entertainment but for an actual conversation. This stranger only knew him as a seadweller, a Captain.

“Where ith he?” Mituna repeated, watching confusion once again furrow the brow before him.

“I- he can’t hurt you anymore.” The idea was almost laughable, the image of Eridan calling in Aphina popping into his head. “You’re not under his control. Is it some sort of residual programming? I can get the-“

Panic was quickly wrapping around Mituna’s pusher, his mind racing. This rebellion had never made their distaste for highbloods a secret, taking the anger from the Signless’s last sermon and using it to fuel their own rage, paying no mind to the forgiveness that had followed. They waged a war in blood, wielding weapons where their ‘inspiration’ had used words. The image of sand caked with violet made him nauseous, his psionics whipping around the tent.

“Where. Ith. The. Captain?” he bit out, sparks leaping from his eyes, his horns, his fingers.

“He’s in the camp’s center,” the other finally squeaked, fear making him stumble over words. “Kaputi’s interrogating him, since the indigo wasn’t any help.”

Mituna’s blood ran cold, the room suddenly scarily still. Eridan was alive, but he couldn’t guarantee how much longer that would be true. He couldn’t pull the files anymore, but he could remember enough of the reports to feel sick. They had found rooms painted with noble blood, evidence of interrogations that rivaled the cruelty of the Condescension herself. They would bleed him for information he couldn’t give them. Would they realize he didn’t know, would they even care?

A gasping noise brought him back to focus, his eyes widening as he realized his psionics had wrapped around the troll, squeezing his chest just enough to make him wheeze as his feet dangled a foot above the ground. He dropped the troll, barely registering the coughing as the rust caught his breath and rose shakily to his feet.

His eyes held more questions. “I- what do you want with him?” he asked, and Mituna’s head raced for answers. He couldn’t just claim Eridan wasn’t a threat, they wouldn’t believe him. They would chalk up his claims of the other being a good captain to leftover loyalty, they wouldn’t believe any sort of fondness existed. Unless…

“He’th my morail.” The lie was blurted, and the room froze again. True understanding painted the other’s gaze, then a terror Mituna couldn’t quite place.

“I’ll get him,” the other promised quickly, stumbling out of the tent and sprinting away.

Mituna gripped his head, trying to keep his psionics in check as they threatened to burn everything around him. A cold voice prodded him, telling him how easily he could wipe this camp off the map, how quick it would be to rip apart the tents until he found the violet on his own. But he didn’t.

They had healed him, had given him a place to sleep and, if that troll was anything to go by, revered him as a living legend. Even as a violet, a captain, if Eridan was in a quadrant he’d be safe. Wouldn’t he?

Mituna curled up tighter, only able to press his hands against his head and spark and hope.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning, this chapter contains TW: violence, blood and torture

The first thing Eridan had seen when he woke was a dark room, empty aside from a table that was set against the far side of the room and the chair he himself sat in. Well, perhaps it would be more accurate to say he was trapped in the chair, tight ropes keeping him in place. He had struggled briefly, his eyes flitting about as they adjusted to the darkness.

He could remember the ship, the crash, and the fight. The rebels stepping from the trees, the prick in his chest. The numbness, the sign glimmering on a silver pendant right before his eyes became too heavy to open. In his chest, his pusher had slammed against his ribs, threatening to escape through them, or through his throat. Where was his crew?

Marion had fallen from the pod, but surely that wouldn’t have injured them too seriously. Bruete had been protecting Coryan, so the teal had at least still been alive then. Aphina- Eridan’s breath had caught in his throat, sorrow curling heavily around his pusher. He should have paid more attention, been more vigilant. Perhaps he could have seen Paryci, perhaps he could have saved her. And what of Mituna, where was he? If Eridan found him, could he even help him without Aphina? He didn’t have medical knowledge.

A voice had startled him, the deep rumble drawing his face up from where his chin had been tucked against his chest. He had frozen, staring at the tall figure standing in the opening of the tent. It was the leader he’d seen on the beach, looking the same aside from a dark stain on the edge of his shirt. Eridan didn’t want to think about what it was, meeting his eyes instead of studying the color.

“Didn’t ya hear me?” he had huffed, though there was a smirk on his face that made Eridan uneasy. “I said, ‘Good evening.’ Aren’t highbloods supposed to be civilized folk?”

“Why am I here? Where am I?” Eridan had spat, masking his fear with rage. It hadn’t been hard to muster, especially when he remembered who he was talking to. The leader of a Summoner followers. His eyes narrowed, his lip curling up.

The other troll stood for a moment, one brow lifting as he studied the sea dweller. Before Eridan could blink, the other troll had lunged forward and Eridan felt the blow before he registered the movement. His head snapped to the side, a burst of blood covering his tongue as his fangs cut the inside of his mouth. His glasses were knocked to the floor, resting in the dust. Eridan had squinted at the other, watching as he calmly stepped to the fallen spectacles and brought his heel down on them until a cracking noise could be heard.

“You ain’t the one askin questions,” he growled, kicking the ruined glasses aside. “Where you are doesn’t matter. The only thin that matters here is what you’re gonna tell me.”

Eridan spat blood onto the floor beside him, the room around him blurred slightly without his glasses. “And wwhat wwould that be exactly?” He’d cursed internally at the stutter, which only widened the smug smirk the other was wearing. “Who are you?”

“I thought I said no questions,” he’d said, walking slowly to the table and moving a few items around. Searching for something, though Eridan shuddered to think what it could be. “But, I guess it doesn’t hurt anythin to tell you my name.” He had picked up something, the dim light glinting off of it slightly. Whatever it was, it was sharp and metallic. Holding it up with a wicked grin, he’d looked back at the bound violet. “It ain’t like you’ll be sayin much at all after this.”

Eridan’s fangs had hooked into the inside of his cheek, tasting more blood as the bronze approached him again. He felt the sharp tip of the blade under his chin, forcing his head up and exposing his gills an uncomfortable amount.

The troll’s free hand suddenly gripped one of his fins, yanking it out and open. “Name’s Kaputi.” One of his claws had pierced the thin membrane and Eridan could barely choke back a cry. Kaputi’s eyes glinted with a cruel joy Eridan had thought only highbloods capable of. “Let’s get started.”

That had been hours ago, or perhaps it hadn’t even been one yet. Every heartbeat felt like an eternity existed between them, made all the more agonizingly slow by the dull throb of Eridan’s pusher pulsing through his wounds.

“You can end this anytime by tellin me what I want to know,” Kaputi sighed, almost sounding bored as a blunt club was slammed against Eridan’s chest again. The violet could hear his own breath, rattling and wet as he coughed more blood. Every movement jostled his ribs, which he was sure were broken by now. “Anything about the Empress or her plans. Any on planet bases, any camp locations. Anything? Surely you can’t be this _useless_.”

“I…d-don’t…kn-knoww,” he coughed, and it was the truth. He never knew the exact locations of his training camps, his missions never on planet once he was assigned. “I’m just an…ex-exploration captain,” he wheezed. He’d said it a thousand times, but he was beginning to think the other didn’t care. It didn’t matter if he had the information or not, this was never going to end. Not until he died. Would having information even make his death quicker, or was the bronze determined to drag it out regardless?

A kick hit his leg, pain making him gag as white-hot searing agony erupted from his knee. It had been struck earlier and Eridan wouldn’t be surprised if it was shattered.

“Don’t act stupid,” Kaputi snarled, grabbing Eridan’s horn and forcing him to look up. His face was bruised, his sight limited by swelling. Similar bruising probably covered the rest of him, leaving violet blossoming over broken bones. “Why would a fleet captain be back on planet?”

“Take a good long look and you tell me,” Eridan hissed, sucking a sharp breath through his teeth. His fins tried to flare, but fell back as pain jolted through one. It felt lighter around the pain and Eridan forced himself not to dwell on it.

There was a pause, the other’s claws tracing the scars around his gills. “What? You talkin about the gills?” He said, grabbing the knife from where it was tucked into his belt.

Eridan’s eyes widened as the cold metal pressed against the frills. “It doesn’t matter anyway, you won’t be needin them-“

“KAPUTI!” The sound made the other jump, knife staying firmly in place as he looked to the entrance, where a figure was standing. They came to his shoulders, or they would if they weren’t resting their hands on their knees as they panted.

There was a fear in their gaze as they looked at Eridan, though Eridan didn’t quite understand it. Perhaps they had never seen an interrogation before, but something told him that wasn’t it.

“Rubrum,” Kaputi snapped, clearly irritated. “I’m in the middle of something. What’s so important? Is the Psiioniic awake?”

Eridan perked at the title, relief washing over him. At least he was alive. Part of him wondered if he knew about what was happening, if he would care. He was free, after all. There was always the possibility of Eridan being just another highblood to him, just another Captain. He doubted it, but still the thought persisted.

“A-about that,” Rubrum stammered, wringing his hands in front of himself. He beckoned Kaputi closer, whispering something to him.

The bronze froze, eyes widening as he looked from the rust to Eridan and back. “Are you- you can’t be serious!”

“That’s what he said,” Rubrum hissed, looking more panicked with each passing moment. “And he’s more than a little…agitated.”

Kaputi turned back to Eridan, the blade coming down to slice through the ropes binding him. “Get the medic. We can…we can fix this.”

Eridan was confused as Rubrum hurried away and returned with a jade blood, her horns elegantly twisted and her hair half up and half down. She grimaced, looking at her leader.

“Was any of…this strictly necessary?” she huffed, carefully examining the worst of the bruises. “Did you get your ‘information’?”

Kaputi glared at her slightly. “Just do your job. You ain’t here to sass me.”

She sighed, giving Eridan a sympathetic look as she splinted his knee, wrapping it tightly. “He won’t be able to walk while it’s healing,” she said quickly and to no one in particular, wrapping his chest as well. She looked at his hands, grimacing. Eridan followed her gaze, noticing that a few claws were missing, the empty spots being covered by bandages. She similarly bandaged his fin, chewing her lip. “May I ask…why the change of heart?” She said as she stood, looking at Kaputi.

He glared at the ground. “There’s been a change of plans. That’s all you need to know.”

Eridan watched her glower, but she simply gave him a few painkillers before leaving. They weren’t as good as highblood medicine, but they did the trick.

Kaputi and Rubrum stood on either side of him, hooking his arms over their shoulders before lifting him. He didn’t dare to put any weight on his injured leg, hobbling between them as he was slowly led across the camp. His arms trembled, his good leg threatening to give out as exhaustion took place of the slowly numbing pain. He was just so _tired_.

Lowbloods milled around, some talking, some sparring, some cooking. Of course, most of them stopped to look at him and Eridan would be lying if he said that none of the openly hostile glares scared him. At least there seemed to be just as many curious expressions as angry.

In the far corner of the mass of tents, one was set slightly apart. As they neared it, Eridan could hear the slight crackle of psionics, his hair standing on end. It worried him and he could almost feel the loss of control that it stemmed from. The tent flap was pulled open, revealing a mass of sparks that almost concealed the thin troll.

The sound of them approaching must have been noticed, because Eridan saw the other’s head snap up. His eyes were glowing dangerously but somehow the violet didn’t feel threatened. It was almost comforting when he was lifted into the air, a bony but warm hand touching his cheek. He flinched and the sparking seemed to get worse, the psion’s glare turning on the trolls still standing at the entrance.

Eridan had never seen Mituna this…unstable. This dangerous. He wasn’t sure exactly what had triggered it, but he couldn’t help wanting to fix it. Acting almost purely on instinct, he reached out and pressed his palm against the other’s cheek. Almost immediately, the sparks died down a little as the mismatched eyes turned to him.

There was a moment of panic and he almost pulled back to apologize, but paused as the others head tilted into his hand. After a long silence, he slowly papped his free hand against the other’s face.

The effect was slower now, the sparks dwindling before they were only used to keep them afloat. Eridan glanced behind them, violet in his cheeks at the pale display though he felt better when he realized the other two had left.

Mituna sighed as he calmed down, pulling Eridan into a hug with a high-pitched whine. “I… thorry,” he mumbled as the violet’s head was tucked under his chin. “I didn’t know if- I thought they might have killed you.”

“I thought they were going to,” Eridan admitted, letting himself slump tiredly against the other. “Sorry…sorry about pappin ya. I didn’t think you wanted to end up rippin this place apart.”

“It’th fine,” the other said quickly. “I- I told them you were my morail tho it’th probably for the betht anyway.”

Eridan pulled back to look at him, brow furrowed. “Why?”

The other grimaced. “I didn’t think they’d take me theriouthly if I told them you were jutht a good captain, or a good troll. Thorry.”

There was a warmth in Eridan’s chest, something that made every instinct scream at him to talk to him, draw out what was bothering him and fix it. It was something protective and safe, something supportive and undeniably _pale_. Eridan wanted to ask, to know if maybe, just maybe, Mituna could feel that warmth too, but he didn’t. That was a question, a discussion for another day.

For now, he waved the other toward the platform, leaning against him as the pained exhaustion threatened to overtake him. Mituna pulled the warm blanket over them, chirring soothingly as Eridan settled against the bony chest and let himself fall finally into a deep, safe sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's been reading this series!  
> Warnings in this chapter for TW: mentions of blood and injuries

Mituna stared at the ceiling of the tent, unable to sleep. He’d been asleep for…how long before this? Too long, and now a restless energy danced in his chest. The comfortable weight of the troll currently curled on top of him was the only thing that kept him from rising and wandering the camp with his newly freed body itching to do something. Anything.

The violet on his chest made a soft noise,  shifting in his sleep and whining when the movement jostled his wounds. The former Helmsman glanced down at him, the corner of his mouth twitching down at the violet spotted bandages plastered over his fin and though he couldn’t see the ones covering his hands or the splint on his leg he couldn’t forget them.

Eridan’s breathing was almost shallow enough to be concerning, every few inhales interrupted when the broken bones around his lungs inevitably shifted. The patching of his wounds looked like a rushed job, but he was reluctant to risk waking him by moving to find a medic. The other troll had always seemed so small, barely reaching Mituna’s sternum when they stood side by side, and the yellowblood somehow doubted Eridan would surpass him even if he lived the centuries his blood promised him. When he’d stepped- no when he’d been _carried_ through the entrance to the tent he’d seemed smaller than ever, pain forcing him to hunch his shoulders while pride still tried to straighten his spine. He was hurt, weakened and vulnerable, but he wasn’t broken and somehow that made Mituna want to protect him more.

Mituna was no stranger to rage, though it was different than that of a highblood. His rage was hot and seared his insides as the chattering of voices threatened to overwhelm him. It was explosive and unpredictable, a painful pressure against his think pan that built the sparks around him, the sparks behind his eyes not far behind. Being plugged into a ship quieted the voices, dulling his emotions and taking the flame from his rage, but he wasn’t in a ship anymore. The voices hadn’t been prominent, only whispers at the edge of the void the detachment left him with, but he’d made the mistake of reaching for them. He had strained to pick out words, sorting through voices and praying he didn’t hear a familiar one before the trickle turned to a flood that met the sparks of his anxious anger and flared into a wildfire he couldn’t contain.

Before the ship, his rage had been met with a warm palm, a hoarse voice drowning out the ones echoing in his skull until he slumped against the shorter troll. This time, it hadn’t been a warmth fighting the flames, but an icy cold that that shocked him enough to dissipate the cloud of sparks surrounding them. He’d blinked, mismatched eyes meeting rings of violet that wavered between confusion and pain, but there was a determination in them that only got stronger when a second hand pressed against the other side of his face. Perhaps it helped that the other trolls had absconded the second they were sure their camp wasn’t about to be turned to cinders.

Even now, the anger still thrummed in his chest, but it was familiar and it was under control. He’d been an angry wriggler, fiercely protective and loyal to a fault. His morail had been the only thing keeping him from blasting a highblood and getting himself culled. He’d been the one to help him control his anger, to keep himself sane as his own mind worked against him.

Mituna held a hand in front of his face, willing sparks to jump between his fingers and letting out a breath as they danced. He was okay, the flame in his chest glowing but no longer burning. He let his eyes fall shut, his claws combing through the violet tuft sticking out of the blanket covering them.

The sound of fabric shifting made him stiffen, his eyes snapping open after their moment of rest and glowing against the dim lighting of the tent. Rubrum stood at the entrance, one hand fisted in the material of the door and his other trembling at his side. Even if he hadn’t been shaking, Mituna could almost smell the fear on him, easier to sense now that he was thinking straight.

“Yeth?” he spoke first, watching the burgundy’s short claws sinking into the thick fabric as his ears flicked back.

“I-I wanted to ask i-if you’d like me to bring dinner to you and your m-m-morail later,” he managed, finally unhooking his claws from the tent. “And Kaputi w-would like to talk to you at some point.”

Mituna’s eyes narrowed slightly at the thought of the bronze who’d stepped into the tent with hands painted violet, shaking the thought away as the rustblood recoiled. “It doesn’t have to be tonight,” the other was quick to assure him.

“What doeth he want?” Mituna asked, feeling a little guilty for the fear permeating the space. Rubrum hadn’t done anything to earn it.

“I believe he w-wants to apologize. And…there are a few other crew members here. Before h-he interrogates them, he wants to t-talk.” There was a long pause before Mituna sighed and gently lifted Eridan off him in a cloud of psionics. He slid off the platform, floating a few inches above the ground as he set the violet back down and tucked the blanket over him. He didn’t trust the muscles of his body to hold him without the aid of his psionics.

“No uthe in putting it off,” he muttered, lifting a hand to push his hair back with part of him relishing the fact that he could do that at all. The freedom was still a little novel to him.

Rubrum blinked, clearing his throat and looking at the troll curled under the thick blanket curiously.

“Thomething wrong?”

The rust jumped, still skittish. “N-nothing! I just-“ he glanced at Eridan again. “I don’t know if it’s worth anything, but I’m sorry your morail is hurt. If you’d like, t-the medic can look at his wounds again when he wakes up. Delias is really nice, I-I promise.”

Mituna relaxed a little, floating out of the tent with a small bit of apprehension still curling in his stomach. “I think that’th a good idea. I thertainly can’t heal him.” He thought again to the sheer number of bandages wrapped around the violet. Around his fingers, though those weren’t splinted so at least they weren’t broken, and his chest, holding his ribs together. His fin too, though there wasn’t enough gauze to hide the fact that a good portion of the membrane between the top two tines was missing. At the very least they hadn’t touch his already damaged gills, or perhaps they simply hadn’t gotten to them yet.

“He’ll be okay,” snapped Mituna out of his own mind and he blinked slowly at the troll standing in front of him.

Rubrum bit his lip. “I m-mean that he’ll be fine while we’re gone. E-everyone is under orders not to go near your tent without permission.”

Mituna hadn’t even thought about that, realizing that they were indeed in the middle of a rebellion camp where highbloods were more than a little unwelcome. He looked around, then back to the tent. Rubrum seemed to sense his reluctance.

“If you’d like, I could stay here and um s-stand guard? I can make sure nothing happens.”

Mituna tilted his head. “You don’t have another job to do after thith?”

He shook his head quickly. “I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on your r-recovery,” he said, looking a little proud. “I don’t know much yet, but I started medic training r-recently. I’m… not too useful in b-battle, so Kaputi assigned me to the infirmary.”

“Not too utheful?”

There was a brief silence before he shrugged, his pride deflating and his eyes falling to the ground. “H-hopefully that’ll change once I’m a medic.”

“…thank you. For looking after him.”

The rust blood nodded, smiling the tiniest of smiles for a moment before Mituna flew toward the center of the camp. He headed for the largest, centermost tent, figuring that had the best chance of being the leaders.

There were trolls doing various jobs in various tents as he traveled down the path, most of them stopping to take a long look at the psion as he passed. There was a blacksmith, metal that would become a blade glowing red hot in his tongs. Several large cooking pots hung over fires, trolls sitting on nearby logs and rocks to eat from carved bowls. One particularly shocked yellowblood let his bowl tumble from his hands, only to catch it with a wave of faint sparks. They were duller, their colors differing slightly from his own, but it was a little nice to see another psion here. A tent further down had a jade standing firmly in the entrance with several wrigglers poking their heads out curiously. The one in her arms couldn’t have been any older than a sweep, but the others looked closer to four or five. That confused him a little. What were wrigglers doing here?

The leader’s tent was indeed the largest, standing with a door made from a flag of the rebellion. Mituna floated right inside, seeing the space divided by cloth walls. A sleeping area was tucked away to the right of the door, the space immediately to the left occupied by a large table covered in maps dotted with brightly colored pins. Kaputi was gesturing to a cluster of pins and talking quietly to an olive blood, who noticed him first. They elbowed the bronze, waving frantically at the psion who stood in the doorway.

Kaputi shooed them away as soon as he looked up, though they gave a wide smile and energetic wave to the floating troll before they left. Mituna looked coolly at Kaputi, who’s shirt and hands were no longer violet, but the smell of blood clung to him like a deadly cloak. Or a warning.

“You wanted to thpeak with me?” His voice was even, civil.

“Yes,” Kaputi said quickly, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the wood of the table. “I think we might a gotten off to a rough start. I doubt your first impression of me was stellar.”

“Mutilating thomeone’th morail can have that effect,” he snipped, still feeling a little bad for referring to him as that right now. They needed to talk, though that talk could wait until Eridan was healed.

Kaputi winced, his ears falling back. “Apologies for that, but I needed the info.”

“He didn’t have it, did he?”

“He mighta. Some just need a little more persuadin before they let something slip.”

“And if he really had nothing? Would you jutht cull him?”

The others eyes hardened. “Ain’t like highbloods wouldn’t do the same to us. Just because you got a tame one-“

There was a deep growl in Mituna’s chest that reminded the other troll who exactly he was talking to. “For your thake and mine, I hope thith ithn’t what you wanted to talk to me about.”

“…it isn’t. We have a few other members of your crew and I thought we might avoid this happening again. If you want to…vouch for any of them I’ll grant them immunity here. That is… unless they cause trouble.”

Mituna frowned, his brow furrowing. “What do you want from me? I doubt you’re doing thith out of the kindneth of your pusher.”

Kaputi raised his hands. “All I want is a little cooperation.”

“Cooperation.”

“Yes. Our rebellion isn’t the only one, but a figure of legend might draw a little…interest from the potential rebels don’t you think?”

“…I’m not fighting your war. I fought mine before your egg wath even laid. But…I’ll give you thome advithe. Thith ithn’t my firtht rebellion.”

Kaputi met his gaze. “I won’t ask you to fight, but I need whatever information you have. So, yeah. Advice, I suppose.”

Mituna grimaced. “You thaid there were other rebellionth?”

“One main one. They’re under someone they’re calling the ‘Second Signless’, and I’m surprised they’ve lasted as long as they have.”

Mituna’s breath caught in his throat.

“Their leader isn’t as…agreeable as the title makes him sound though. We’ve only met once or twice and we don’t exactly see eye to eye. I did send a letter to let them know of your arrival, but I don’t expect much from them. They aren’t as pacifistic as the First Rebellion, but their goals are the same optimistic bullshit and we saw how well that worked out.” He met Mituna’s eyes. “You should know that better than anyone.”

Mituna barely managed to keep from punching him in the face. No psionics, no powers. Just a good, old-fashioned punch to the face. But he said nothing. He was recovering, and the crew members were no doubt injured. He could take this camp down, but there was no where else for them to go, at least for now. So, he had to play nice, only hissing a small warning.

“I’ll anthwer what quethtionth you have, if I can. But not today. Where’th my crew?”

Kaputi sighed, leading him to a small tent nearby. This one had two armed guards, the structure more sound. It was more like a cell block than a tent, the trolls inside on the ground and bound. Even if they escaped they wouldn’t get far.

In the far corner, Marion slumped against a wooden pillar, their hands behind their back. Something was matted into their curls and Mituna could hear their shallow breathing from here. Against the back wall, Coryan and Bruete leaned against each other, neither any more injured than when he’d last seen them. That was good. Two bluebloods Mituna couldn’t immediately recall the names of lay in various places. Mituna frowned.

“I know the indigo in the corner, and the two nearest to them. Where…there should be an olive blood with them. She was our medic.”

Kaputi looked at him blankly, but a familiar voice reached them.

“Aphina’s dead,” Coryan said dully, curling tighter to his morail. “Paryci got her.”

Mituna almost protested, for a moment not believing it. But why would Coryan lie?

He swallowed hard, resolving to ask Eridan what had happened when he woke. A cold feeling had already settled into his gut. Aside from Eridan, Aphina was the closest thing he had to a friend. But now wasn’t the time for grieving.

He lifted a hand, psionics making quick work of the knots holding the prisoners.

“They need treatment,” he said, his voice stiff.

Kaputi, for once, didn’t say anything, nodding as a guard ran to get a medic’s attention.

“Ith that everything?” Mituna sounded clipped and cold, which he supposed was accurate. Aphina was dead, Paryci had killed her, and he had no clue where or when this had happened.

“Yes. I’d suggest grabbing dinner before you head back. It’ll be morning soon.”

A nod was the only indication Mituna gave that he’d heard him, but he did indeed stop at the fires to get two heaping bowls of food that smelled a lot better than it looked. Rubrum was standing diligently outside the tent, flashing a smile before bidding him a good day and hurrying toward the dinner area.

Eridan hadn’t moved an inch, the movement of his chest just barely enough to tell he was alive. Mituna didn’t want to wake him, but the food would probably taste better hot and he had questions. He set the bowls down at the foot of the platform, lightly prodding Eridan’s uninjured shoulder until violet eyes fluttered open.

Either he was very tired or very hungry, because he didn’t say a word as Mituna handed him the bowl of food and watched him begin to devour it.

The yellowblood  took a deep breath as the last of the meal disappeared. This wasn’t the best way to start a conversation, but he didn’t think too much about that until the words had already left his lips.

“What happened to Aphina?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions and some descriptions of wounds

Eridan didn’t know if the pain in his stomach was from eating too fast or from the question, tapping the carved spoon against the edge of the bowl with his fangs digging into the inside of his cheek. He’d woken to Mituna hovering over him, steaming bowls of stew sitting at the end of the platform.

It wasn’t the best thing he’d ever had, but after sweeps of soldiers rations it might as well have been. He almost wished there was more, both because even with the food he could still feel the ache of hunger in his abdomen and because it would give him an excuse to put off talking about…

He looked at Mituna’s face, watching the furrow of the other’s brow. His lips were pursed, the red and blue of his eyes narrowed to slivers as his expression tightened. As though he knew very well what Eridan was about to say and was forcing himself to listen anyway.

Sorrow had already set itself deep into Eridan’s chest, but he was more adept than he’d like to be at pushing it aside. He suspected that Mituna could say the same.

“Aphina…was on the beach with us,” he began, his claws gouging into the wood of the bowl in his lap. “ She was gonna help you after you collapsed, but…she was hit with a knife.” He saw Mituna flinch, the tiniest of movements but it was unmistakable. “Paryci did it. My memory’s a little fuzzy after that,” he admitted. “Probably somethin to do with rage. Can’t remember the last time I had one a those. I do know that the rebels showed up durin it, and Paryci died.” He ran a hand through his hair, wincing with a low hiss as pain rippled from his shoulder and across his chest.

The pain was less than yesterday, if only by a small bit. His highblood healing was already kicking in, but it would be at least a week before breathing was no longer agonizing. Double that before he could even think about walking normally. He grimaced, cursing under his breath as he realized how long he’d be stuck, helpless in this camp. The thought of being at their mercy was nauseating, but he didn’t dare express his distaste. That would lead to more questions than he wanted to answer.

He jumped a little as he felt warm fingers brushing his hair from his face. Mituna was watching him with a worry that made Eridan want to smooth the wrinkle that seemed almost permanently etched into his forehead.

“Do you need the medic?”

“That won’t be necessary,” surprised both of them, the fabric of the tent’s entrance lifting as a jade Eridan recognized poked her head in. “Rubrum said you needed some assistance.” She held up a small bag and though it was rougher than anything that would be allowed on an Imperial vessel, it was familiar enough to make Eridan’s chest hurt.

“That’d be nice,” he managed, coughing and wincing. The small smile she gave him was probably meant to be comforting, but it just confused him. He knew how this rebellion operated. The fact that they let him live was astounding, whether he was the morail of The Psiioniic or not, so he didn’t quite understand why she was even offering further medical attention or why the other troll had sent her in the first place.

She stepped inside, glancing to Mituna. “Would you mind getting some water for your morail?”

Eridan could feel the other stiffen beside him and a glance saw Mituna looking at her with barely hidden suspicion. She met the gaze smoothly, striding to set the bag at the end of the platform.

“I’m not going to hurt your morail,” she assured him, pulling fresh bandages from the bag. “In fact, a large container of water would be preferable in addition to a flask. I didn’t have enough time to properly clean any of his wounds and I’m sure yours need treatment as well.”

Mituna waited another moment before he stood, his psionics holding him just above the ground as he left the tent. Eridan would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous, the only troll he was sure didn’t want him dead having just left.

The jade gave him another reassuring smile, pulling a bundle of cloth from her bag and putting it on the platform. “I brought you a change of clothes. Yours are…well let’s just say I’m not surprised your morail didn’t take seeing you well. Rubrum was sure he was going to shred the camp.”

Eridan looked down at his ripped and bloodied uniform, grimacing at the violet that dyed and dotted the edges of frayed material. “…thank you.”

“It’s not a problem. Although, before you change I do need to check your ribs.”

There was a moment of hesitation before Eridan shrugged off the uniform jacket, hissing softly as the movement tugged at the knife wound in his shoulder. She pursed her lips, examining the area.

“I wasn’t informed of this one…” she murmured, her eyes narrowing.

“It wasn’t one they left,” he shrugged, the movement agitating the wound further.

“Was it an injury from the crash?” She plucked a needle from her bag, threading it as she spoke.

“Er…no. From the fight beforehand. A course, Paryci didn’t make it much better when she put her claws in it on the beach.” The jade looked at him, an eyebrow raised.

“Paryci?”

“…the cerulean that your rebellion culled on the beach. She staged a mutiny on the ship that brought us back to Alternia.”

“You brought a mutineer back? Why not cull her and simply send a report?” Eridan kept his eyes on the far wall as she stitched the wound, gritting his teeth a little at the pain.

“…It wasn’t my decision to bring the ship back. The mutiny went uncontested on a new planet while I was…out of commission. A few trolls who didn’t want me dead staged a counter mutiny, and durin that she destroyed part of the Helmsblock and crashed the ship.” His eyes narrowed as her expression turned surprised.

“A cerulean bested a violet in combat? I thought the Condesce treated mutineers like rebels? Wouldn’t she have been culled once back on planet?”

“If this is some interrogation, I’m surprised your leader is smart enough to try somethin other than brute force.”

“I’m not interrogating you,” she huffed, bandaging the shoulder and unraveling the ones from his chest. The skin was almost black with bruises, the edges a much brighter violet, but Eridan could already see that they were smaller. With proper food and sleep, the bruising would be gone in a few days, though the bones wouldn’t be completely healed for a bit longer. “I’m simply curious. …Highbloods heal even faster than I thought. Your ribs are cracked, thankfully not broken as far as I can tell.” She wrapped his chest in fresh bandages, pausing to look at scarring surrounding his gills.

“…Kaputi said that he’d interrogated an indigo from my ship. They didn’t tell him anythin?”

“Even if they did, I’d be the last troll he told about it. I’m a medic, not a strategist. …Speaking of an indigo, there is only one prisoner of that caste that I know of. Earlier tonight, they were brought to the infirmary per request of your morail.”

Eridan’s eyes widened. “Marion’s alive? Is there anyone else? I’ve got to-“ Without thinking, he rose to his feet and immediately collapsed, his leg screaming as an agonized gasp left him. The jade caught him before he hit the ground, easing him back onto the platform.

“Don’t be foolish. As long as they fall under your morail’s protection they will be fine.” She grimaced as she glanced at his knee, pulling out a few more things from her bag. “I’m going to put a better splint on your leg.”

With a bit of help, he removed the ruined pants, which left him in an Imperial issued undershirt and undergarments. His knee was swollen, the bruising as dark as the ones on his chest and spreading from mid-thigh to halfway down his calf. The medic tried to keep his leg as still as possible as she removed the splint, the slightest twitch forcing him to grit his fangs to keep from screaming.

A few minutes into the process, Mituna returned with a basin of water, two flasks, and several rags. He set them down beside the medic, who sighed in relief.

“Perfect. Psiioniic, could you hold his leg steady?”

Eridan could feel the somewhat familiar buzz of psionics around his leg, the sparks cushioning it and keeping it still. The pain eased some and he took a deep breath as the new splint was placed on it. It felt better than the last one had and Eridan was grateful, though still irritated that he would be unable to walk without aid for a while yet.

“May I see your hands?” she asked, holding out one of her own. Eridan sighed and placed his palm in hers. She gingerly unwound the bandages from his fingers and Eridan was pleased to see these wounds healing quickly as well, though a small hiss from Mituna reminded him that the other had had yet to see his missing claws. He patted the psion’s hand with his free one, a bit surprised to see him relax a bit at the gesture.

“…what’s your name, anyway?” he asked to fill the silence, the tension in the room high enough to make his fins twitch.

“Delias,” she replied, carefully replacing the bandages. “And yours?”

Eridan blinked, a little confused before realizing that even Kaputi hadn’t seemed to know his name. “Eridan. Does not askin names make it easier for your boss to carve us up or somethin?”

Delias frowned as she stood, retrieving some salve from her bag. “He claims that it’s to keep interrogations impersonal. He needs only information, not life stories. At least, that’s what I have heard. Now, I do need to look at your fin.”

Eridan leaned forward, fanning what was left of the fin out and ignoring every instinct that told him to keep the injury tucked against his head. “So, the exact opposite of the Empress then? She gets every bit of info she can, far as I can tell.”

“She maketh it perthonal tho it hurtth more,” Mituna interrupted, a pained look in his eyes.

It was a look that made Eridan want to reach out and fix everything that was causing it, his pusher aching because he couldn’t. The closest he could get was probably a feelings jam, but not only was there another troll in the room but he doubted any hint of pale he was reading from the other. His own feelings had started as a duty to a memory, sparked into its own motivation by seeing the life seeping back into the other troll until he found himself falling ass-backwards into pale. His former moraillgence- his pusher hurt at the thought of it- had been shattered pink and red fragments held together by protective instinct and time. This was different, something diamond-shaped and unbreakable. He shook his head to clear the thoughts, though with his head full of memories he couldn’t help but see another face in Delias’s jade eyes for just a moment.

His fin was covered in the salve to deter infection, the area more prone than anywhere else, and rewrapped as she told him what he already knew. The membrane wouldn’t grow back and once it was healed he’d be left with the gap. “Your hearing won’t be affected,” she continued as her and Mituna helped him into the clothes she had brought, much to his embarrassment. They were loose and made of rough fibers, but they were clean and it was nice to wear something that didn’t smell like his own blood. Later he might see about getting a needle and thread to add his sign, but at the moment he was just grateful to have the clothes. She peered curiously at the pendant around his neck, but didn’t ask questions about it. “Although your echolocative abilities may be inhibited when underwater.”

Eridan glanced away uncomfortably, feeling his gills twitch. At least that wouldn’t be a problem then.

“If you have any problems, let me know. For the time being,” she turned to Mituna. “I would like to see your wounds.”

The psion sighed and pulled his shirt over his head. Scars lined his torso, his skin stretched too thin over his bones and Eridan noticed the black ink over his shoulder with a wince. He remembered studying Imperial ships as a wriggler, even more so when he found out the fate the Empire had in mind for some of the lowerbloods he was close to. He knew what had been had every bandage, the wounds still making him look away. Across his abdomen were long slits where bioware had anchored him into the block, matching ones on his back and down his legs. At three points along both arms was a port, once ringed with metal, similar ones in various sizes along his spine with the biggest at the base of his skull. Eridan was just glad whoever had treated him had been able to safely remove the bioware, knowing that he wouldn’t have been able to. At least now he could heal.

As Delias cleaned the ports along his spine, Mituna used his psionics to nudge Eridan with a flask. The violet glanced at him before taking it, the cool water soothing his parched throat and forcing him to realize how thirsty he was. He downed the water in a few large gulps, the second flask dropping into his hands as soon as he finished the first. He drank that one as well, though less frantically, setting it beside himself and mouthing a ‘thank you’ to the other.

Delias stepped away and packed her bag, glancing at the basin. “Would you mind emptying that for me? I can take it back, as well as the flasks.”

Sparks surrounded the wood and it floated out the door with a small flick of Mituna’s hand. A moment later a splash was heard and the now empty basin returned, landing in the jade’s hands.

“Thank you, Psiioniic. I would suggest that you make sure your morail rests for now. It is almost morning. I will be sure your crew is alright.” With a respectful nod, she left.

Eridan huffed about laying back down, already restless. He wanted to see his crew. He wanted to leave this tent. He didn’t want to be in this camp full of rebels who wanted him dead, but Mituna was already sinking onto the platform beside him.

“…where are your glasses?” he asked after a moment and Eridan blinked, grimacing as he realized that might be contributing to dull throb in his skull.

“Kaputi smashed them,” he sighed, waving off the other’s slight sparking. “I’ll be fine. My eyesight ain’t that bad.” It wasn’t that good either, but like hell was he going to admit that right now.

“I’ll thee if they have any thpareth here tomorrow,” Mituna promised, ignoring Eridan’s assurances that he didn’t have to. Eridan finally gave up, relaxing and wondering how he could be so exhausted after doing absolutely nothing in the short time he’d been awake.

The why didn’t really matter, he supposed as his eyes slid shut and his head rested against the others chest again. He could hear the quiet thumping of the other’s blood pusher, the sound thrumming in his uninjured fin as he drifted into the quiet darkness.

The black was comforting at first, but it wasn’t long before the hooked tentacles of Horrorterrors gripped his sleeping mind and the nightmares began.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for mentions of injuries in this chapter

****

The sound of muffled sobs pulled Mituna easily from sleep, his blood pusher clenching as he looked over the other’s trembling shoulders. The sight had become uncomfortably familiar as the days wore on, Eridan’s dreams only getting worse every time he tried to sleep. The psion reached out, taking hold of Eridan’s shoulder and pulling him a little closer.

In the past week, he’d been woken almost every day by this, though contact seemed to help ease them a bit. Had they been this bad on the ship? Mituna almost wanted to ask, but that seemed far closer to a feelings jam than he wanted to risk, so he let himself be content in calming him, closing his fingers around a wrist and tugging his fist away from his mouth. Bits of violet colored his hand, marks left by his fangs as he’d struggled not to let his crying be audible. Mituna wouldn’t fault him for crying, simply wiping the wet trails away with a thumb and letting a calming chirr fill the air.

“Sorry,” Eridan mumbled against the palm of his hand, as he had every time. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’th fine,” Mituna assured him quietly, his free hand almost lazily petting his hair. “I’m not really uthed to thleep yet anyway.”

Sleep was a novel concept to him still, something he forgot he needed until he was too exhausted to continue holding his eyes open. Eridan usually had to remind him to rest, something he’d reluctantly listened to after the violet had almost hurt his knee worse trying to catch him when he’d collapsed. In the ship there was no sleeping, eating, or drinking. He fed the ship his power and in turn it kept him alive. Some life support was the only reason his body hadn’t deteriorated entirely, if only so he wouldn’t immediately die upon disconnection from the helmsblock. The closest he got to sleep is when the ship was cruising through space, the constant speed requiring little effort from him and allowing him to simply let the systems run on somewhat of an autopilot. He wasn’t even sure if he was capable of sleeping like that.

Even outside the helm, sleep didn’t come easy. There were hints of colors and voices that laced themselves into the few hours he managed to get, traces of dreams that he always woke before he could grasp. It didn’t help that anything could wake him, from the rustling to leaves outside to pain in his still healing ports. Most of the time he was wide awake when Eridan would tense and mumble, sometimes screaming into his pillow as his own mind turned on him.

“Still,” he breathed. There were a few beats of silence before he shuffled back, lifting his chin so piercing violet eyes could meet his own. “…do you think it’s almost evening?”

Mituna raised an eyebrow, glancing toward the door of the tent. His psionics lifted the material a bit, the light streaming into the tent a soft red of dying sunlight. He dropped it back into place, yawning and resting his chin on the between Eridan’s horns.

“It shouldn’t be too long. Why?”

Eridan shrugged, hiding his face in the pillow. Mituna frowned, his eyes narrowing just a bit.

“Eridan?”

With a heavy sigh, the violet lifted his head again. “…I don’t care if it’s just for a few minutes in the woods or whatever, I need a break from this damn tent.” There was a prick at his arm as Eridan’s hand tightened, his fangs digging into his lip. “I feel like I’m goin crazy,” the other finally admitted.

Mituna paused, sitting up and casting a thoughtful look toward the entrance. He didn’t blame him for getting antsy after a week in here, with only Delias and Rubrum providing him with company. The rest of the crew was still in the medical tent, though Eridan had demanded to see them.

Kaputi had refused, making it clear that the crew wouldn’t be allowed to meet in the psion’s tent and with Eridan still recovering Mituna wasn’t about to take him into the middle of the camp. He rubbed his temples, looking at the seadweller’s leg. The bandages had been taken off his chest and fin the day before, but his leg was still splinted and heavily.

“…I’m going to gueth you want to thee the crew?”

His suspicions were confirmed by the way Eridan’s fins perked, his face lighting up. “Do you think I’d be able to? I don’t think anyone is gonna attack me if you’re there,” he spoke quickly, his hand resting lightly on his injured knee. “And I’m mostly healed anyway. I can take care a myself.”

He looked too hopeful for Mituna to refuse again, though he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t worried still. He knew the highblood was capable, but no matter how capable he was down a leg for another week at least and this camp was at least a couple hundred strong. At least the bruising on his face and arms was almost gone entirely, only the faintest purple outlined on his skin.

There was a beat of silence before Mituna made the mistake of looking at his face. When anyone else was in the tent he kept his expression neutral, his eyes cold and his lips pursed as he cautiously surveyed the visitor. However, when it was just them he was one of the most expressive trolls Mituna had ever met. His fins were flicking slightly, the intact one folding down just enough to be noticed. His eyes were wide, wavering between hope and angry resignation as his fangs caught his bottom lip.

“I’ll thee what I can do,” he offered, standing as voices began to spring to life outside. Delias had given him ways to build muscle, but for the moment he kept his feet firmly an inch above the ground.

He was almost to the entrance when a voice stopped him, smaller and quieter than he was used to. “How much longer are we going to be here?”

Mituna glanced back, confusion written plainly on his face. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, once I’m healed are we stickin around?” He was fidgeting now, refusing to meet Mituna’s eyes.

“Why wouldn’t we? You can’t go back to the Empire, and I thure ath hell ain’t going back. We’ve got food and shelter here, at leatht for the time being. No one’th gonna make you or me fight thith war.”

“What if they want you to fight?”

Mituna heard the crackle of sparks and shook his head to clear them from his horns, his arms crossing tightly across his chest. “I’m pretty thick of people telling me what to do. I’d like to thee them try.” It took him a moment to breath, his expression softening as he tried to see Eridan’s face. “What brought thith on?”

The mumbled reply was both irritating and concerning, especially as Mituna realized Eridan’s face was blank as he stared at his claws.

“What?”

“I said,” Eridan took a ragged breath, his claws tugging a seashell pendant from under his shirt. “I can’t stay here.”

“What? Why not?” Mituna frowned. “I know they aren’t the motht helpful, but I’m thure they’ll back off after a while. Eridan, we’re thafe here.”

“You are. I’m not,” he spat, holding his pendant in one hand and breathing deeply.

“Wha- Eridan no one ith going to hurt you!”

“You can’t promise that! I…look, Mituna, you might be fine here but I’m not. I can’t stay here!”

“Why not?”

“It…it’s not important.”

“The fuck it ithn’t! You can’t jutht dethide out of nowhere- “

“I’ve been bedridden for a week! I didn’t have a choice! But I’ll be healed soon and- “

“And what, Eridan? Do you think you’ll jutht waltth out of here and be fine? That making it on your own ith that eathy?”

The violet said nothing, only gripping the pendant tighter.

“Or what, do you want to go back? Ith that it? You want to be a captain again?”

“No! I know I can’t go back but I can’t stay here! It’s got nothin to do with the Empire, I just can’t!”

Mituna was grasping for answers, throwing his hands into the air. “What the fuck ith wrong with thtaying here?”

Eridan’s head snapped up, his fangs bared and orange tinging the edges of is pupils. “Let’s just say that if I hadn’t been injured at the time I wouldn’t have minded you burning this place to the ground.”

Mituna jerked back, the signs of rage making him panic for a moment. “Eridan take a deep breath.”

The growl that followed was cut off by Eridan suddenly curling up, his fins flat against his head. Mituna was hesitant but put his palm against Eridan’s cheek. The violet jumped, staring up at him with wide eyes. If not for the orange steadily creeping over his eyes he would have pulled away, but instead he softly papped his face and quietly shooshed him. The rage slowly faded, Eridan’s fins drooping as his eyes shut and a purr rang from his chest.

“…Eridan?” he finally said, pulling his hand back. The other blinked before looking back at him, eyes unfocused for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice tiny.

“It’th okay. Why- “

Eridan’s hand shot up, covering Mituna’s mouth as he shook his head. “Don’t. I can’t…I can’t talk about it. Please.”

He nodded, noting the way Eridan’s shoulder’s sagged with relief. “…Do you thtill want to go outthide?”

His eyes widened and he frantically nodded, as though he was afraid of the offer being taken from him. “I could go with you to get breakfast.”

Mituna considered telling him to wait, to hold off until he could talk to Kaputi, but he smiled and nodded instead. Sparks supported him as he stood, keeping his weight off of his leg though Eridan insisted that he could mostly walk on his own.

The light of the moons washed over the two of them as they stepped outside, Eridan’s eyes shutting for a moment as a smile twitched his lips. Mituna watched him hobble a few steps before hooking an arm with his and supporting him. Eridan practically clung to him and Mituna was sure it was his pride that kept him grumbling the entire time.

The meal area wasn’t far, but the trip was made far longer by the gazes of the people gawking as they emerged from their tents. Eridan’s fins were pinned back, though that was the only hint he’d even noticed the stares. His eyes were straight ahead, his face the mask Mituna was more than used to.

A tealblooded cook raised a suspicious eyebrow at Eridan as Mituna helped him perch on the makeshift seat of a convenient stone, though she handed him a bowl of food without much trouble. Eridan gladly accepted it, seeming to look him over as he took the first bite.

“If you need to go talk to Kaputi, do it,” he finally said, rolling his eyes. “I’ll be fine.”

The thought of leaving him alone outside of the tent was more than a little terrifying, but he simply grit his teeth and nodded. He’d keep and ear out and trust that Eridan would tell him if he needed help.

Kaputi stood at the table in his tent, glaring sharply at papers in his hand. A lusus perched on the table, a fairybull, tilting its head as he entered. As soon as the other troll noticed him he waved it away and it fluttered past Mituna to dart towards the woods.

Mituna raised an eyebrow, looking pointedly at the papers that clearly angered the bronze so much.

“Just a message from trolls who can’t mind their own business,” he hissed, crumpling it his fist before tossing it aside.

“A little low tech, ithn’t it?”

“It keeps the Empresses nose out of it, doesn’t it?”

He had to give him that, shrugging and stepping fully inside. “I’d like to talk to the crew with Eridan. He’th…recovering quickly and I can take him to the infirmary where they can be thupervithed.”

Kaputi’s expression darkened and he crossed his arms. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with you as a supervisor.”

“…what?”

“He’s your morail. Your judgement of them might be biased. Hell, you might even help them- “

“Help them what?! Ethcape? Motht of them are thtill injured and he can’t even walk. Even if they were perfectly healthy there’th nowhere for uth to go. Even turning you into the Empire wouldn’t be enough to keep uth from getting culled, and that’th the betht cathe thcenario. Wortht cathe, I end up back in a Helmthblock.”

“Are you sure that matters to him? He’s a violet, he’d have the best chance of escaping culling and just getting demoted.”

A deep growl forced Kaputi to take a step back, his ears dropping instinctively at the sound of a higherblood’s anger. Even though Mituna was only a caste above him, it took him a moment to shake off. It helped that Mituna was shocked enough that the sound was coming from him that it cut off only a few seconds in. “He wouldn’t do that to hith friendth, or to me. But fine, athign thomeone to make thure they behave.”

Kaputi’s gaze was cool, though his ears were still held back. “I will. Delias and Rubrum will remain with them the entire time, and a guard will be posted at the entrance.”

Mituna only responded with a short nod, letting his eyes wander over the maps spread over the table. The colorful pins meant nothing to him, but he was sure they were plans of some sort. Perhaps raids of highblood supplies, perhaps they’d found camps to raid. He didn’t expect to be involved in any, but the single bright red pin on the far edge of the map held his attention. He wanted to ask. He didn’t.

Instead he turned and stalked out the door, pressing his fingers to his temple and trying to massage away the rapidly forming headache. That was probably the only thing he missed about the Helm, the numbness. His ports still ached, healing far slower than he liked, and his joints were constantly sore, not to mention the almost constant migraines. Maybe they just felt more intense since he hadn’t felt real pain in so long. The burning of a power surge was agonizing, sure, but at least it wasn’t _constant_.

Eridan was finished eating by the time Mituna returned, claws leaving nervous gouges in the sides of the bowl as the trolls around him studied him. Most of the stares were neutral or simply curious, but a pair of trolls whispering with sharp glares made him glad he’d gotten back when he had. He took a seat beside Eridan, pointedly returning their glare before looking at him.

“Kaputi thaid you could vithit them ath long ath thomeone wath thupervithing,” Mituna said, watching as Eridan nodded and immediately tried to stand. He stumbled and hissed under his breath, gripping Mituna’s arm as soon as it was offered to steady himself. However, they only took a few steps before he paused.

“You haven’t eaten yet.”

Mituna frowned at him, then back at the food. “I’ll be fine. I can eat later.” Hunger was almost as unfamiliar as sleep, the feeling never seeming to show itself until it became painful.

Eridan practically glared at him, refusing to move another step. “No. Eat somethin. I don’t know how long we’ll be talkin.”

“Eridan, I’ll be- “

“You won’t be fine if you don’t eat,” he insisted, pulling his arm away so he could cross them.

They stared at each other for almost a full minute, but Eridan didn’t seem to be backing down. Mituna sighed and grabbed a couple pieces of fruit from a basket at the cook’s tent. “I’ll eat onthe we get there,” he said, the violet finally letting him lead him to the infirmary.

The mix of glares and curiosity followed them to the tent, making Mituna spark and Eridan tense. Once they were inside, both of them seemed to relax.

“Captain!” came a cheerful chirp from Coryan, most of the bandages removed from his head. He was grinning as Delias examined the long-healed crack in his horn. Bruete was at his side, giving him a respectful nod.

“It is good to see you are alright,” he rumbled, knocking his horns against his morails tiredly. Mituna wondered when he last slept.

Marion waved from their place in the corner, a thick bandage still in place over their eye. Eridan winced a little but returned the gesture. He was about to speak when another troll stepped in. They were an olive blood Mituna didn’t recognize, a rifle leaning against his shoulder. Mituna assumed he was the guard, though he didn’t say anything as he took his place beside the entrance.

Eridan glanced warily at him before sitting on the cot beside Marion, relaxing just a bit. “Are all of you healin alright?”

Bruete nodded firmly. “I had not suffered any severe injuries, so I am completely healed.”

“All I’ve got is this!” Coryan pointed to the bandage by his temple, grinning widely. “I’ll be fine in a couple more days. Right, Deli?”

Delias rolled her eyes, but smirked, amused. “Yes. But that is not a free pass to do something stupid.”

“Aw, you’re no fun,” he teased, his face turning more serious as he looked at Eridan again. “Are we safe here?”

Eridan glanced at the guard but nodded. “They haven’t done anything to me…well not since the initial questioning. They respect Mituna, so I don’t think they’ll hurt us unless we do somethin.”

“So, keep our heads down and don’t fuck anything up?” A soft voice rasped. Mituna jumped before realizing it was Marion. He didn’t think he’d ever heard them speak.

“That’s all we can do,” he confirmed, his eyes tight as he looked over Marion. “How are you holdin up?”

They shrugged. “I’ve had worse. Well…aside from this eye but that’s healing.”

Eridan grimaced. “I’m sorry. They should have interrogated me first.”

Mituna wanted to disagree. Not that he wanted Marion hurt, but the idea of Eridan’s injuries being even worse made his sparking visible. He shook away the thoughts, leaving them to talk as he stepped outside for a quick breath.

The cool air was refreshing even after only a few minutes in the tent, clearing his head as he stared up as the stars he’d once been among. The vast sky was perfect to lose himself in, at least until shouts cut through the peace. He frowned, glancing at the infirmary once before floating hesitantly toward the noise.

There were several trolls scrambling around, Kaputi in the middle with a scowl carved into his face.

“Kaputi? What’th going on?”

The bronze turned his glare on Mituna, his words hissed out between his teeth. “They’re here. I just got their fucking message this evening and they show up- “

“Who?”

Kaputi took a deep breath. “The followers of the Second Signless. They want to meet the great Psiioniic. I meant to discuss it with you later today but here they are.”

His eyes went wide, sparks running wildly up his horns. “How far away- “

“Not far. If you want your morail at the meeting, I’d suggest you grab him now.”

Mituna took a moment to think, sighing. While Eridan was injured he’d rather keep him close, and he knew that there was a distinct possibility he’d get upset at this. Eridan wasn’t officially his morail, but as far as this camp was concerned he was and he’d been doing a consistent job of acting the part.

He stepped back into the tent, making Eridan jolt a little and look at him.

“Another rebel group showed up,” he said simply, holding out a hand.

Eridan took it, standing and letting Coryan give him an excited hug with a promise that they would talk again soon.

He didn’t say anything as they drew closer to the crowd of trolls at the edge of camp, the approaching group coming into sight as they stepped out from the trees.

At the front was a short troll with a cloak fluttering around his shoulders, his horns familiar nubs. Mituna froze, barely noticing as Eridan softly cursed from behind him. Even a streak of red sparks didn’t phase him until it shot past him…

And slammed Eridan into the nearest tree.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: violence, blood, mentions of scars and injuries, mentions of death

Eridan wasn’t sure what was going on, only that someone was arriving. Someone important.

He could see the slightly blurry figures emerging from the trees, squinting to focus. His eyesight wasn’t really that bad and he’d mostly gotten used to life without his glasses, but it was still a pain sometimes. Leaning forward a little, he studied the troll and the front and his eyes went wide as his heart leapt into his throat and a weight sank into his stomach. A cloak billowed around the clear leader, but though the hood was down Eridan couldn’t discern his horns from his hair in the shadows. The only thing he could make out was the bright, burning red orbs he knew were the troll’s eyes. He knew that color. He’d been there when the flecks of it had begun to appear, when the normally angry yells turned to panic. When the gray sign he always wore had finally been replaced.

A curse escaped from between his teeth and he swallowed hard, his chest hurting. Part of him wanted to hide behind Mituna, to pray they didn’t see him until he could escape. His hands trembled, the shaking the only part of him that wasn’t frozen as another figure came into the moonlight. They were just behind the leader, a similar suncloak around their shoulders. Twin pairs of horns stood in a proud silhouette, the bright red of the eye Eridan could see twisting his stomach in panic, the familiar blue also missing from the sparks that hung in a cloud around him. The visible eye met him own and he only had a moment to think before a coil of red sparks wrapped around his waist, yanking him from the ground and whipping him through the air.

He gasped, the wind forced from his lungs as his back slammed into the thick trunk of a nearby tree. The sparks dropped him and he fell ten feet to the ground, landing on his injured leg as a wheezing scream ripped itself from him. He pressed his hands to his knee as though that would fix it, wishing he had even a knife. Hand to hand combat was one thing, but against a psion it was useless.

The sparks flared in front of him again, wrapping tightly around his neck and hoisting him into the air, burning hot against his skin. The sudden pressure against his windpipe turning his gasps to panicked wheezes. His vision blurred and darkened as a figure appeared in front of him. One he knew well.

Sollux had gotten taller, his horns and fangs longer and the latter as crooked as ever. He was somehow bonier than Eridan remembered, his cloak dropping to the ground as Eridan noticed something was different, was wrong.

Scars marred his temples, similar scars visible on his arms. They were scars that looked eerily close to the ones currently forming as Mituna’s wounds healed, though that wasn’t the worst part. Nausea wrenched Eridan’s stomach into knots as he realized the blue that had always been paired with his red was completely gone. The once blue lens of his glasses was blacked out, the socket behind it completely dark.

“S-sol?” he barely managed, pawing uselessly at the sparks around his throat. Once again, he felt himself slam into the tree, his consciousness beginning to waver.

“Don’t you fucking dare call me that!” he hissed, his eye flaring brighter. Eridan didn’t doubt that if he had anything resembling normal eyes they would be almost entirely red with rage.

Eridan coughed, desperately reaching for air he couldn’t get. He didn’t want to die like this. A panicked trill rang high in his throat with the last of his air, an involuntary call for help. To hear it from a highblood was rare, since lower bloods usually used it to summon their quadrants. The sound seemed to confuse Sollux for a moment as the red around him doubled, the blue tinting it the only reason Eridan found it comforting. The new surge of psionics gripped Sollux and ripped him away, the break in his concentration dissipating the red around Eridan.

He dropped again, a cloud of familiarly warm sparks cushioning him and wrapping around him before the other red could reach him again. A pathetic chirp escaped him as he took a painful breath, his vision slowly beginning to clear.

Mituna floated in between him and Sollux, a deep growl echoing through the clearing and making most of the trolls take a few steps back. The sparks flared around them, lashing out in the psionic version of a fistfight. It was obvious that Mituna was stronger, but somehow Sollux was managing to hold his own. If this kept up, they’d tear the entire forest apart.

Eridan cursed and drew in another breath as he reached out. “Mituna,” he rasped, a familiar voice shouting something from the crowd.

“GOGDAMNIT, ARADIA! GET YOUR FUCKING MORAIL!” the leader shrieked, a metallic figure darting toward the fighting pair.

Eridan managed to get ahold of Mituna’s foot and catch his attention as metal arms wrapped tightly around Sollux and yank him toward the ground. The goldblood screeched in anger, struggling to get away from her with his eye narrow and locked directly on Eridan.

He squeezed his eyes shut and turned away from the accusing look, pulling Mituna down to him. Pulling the other’s face to look at him, he took a deep breath and met his eyes, chirring softly. Sparks still danced erratically around them and Eridan wasn’t sure how many belonged to Sollux, but he ignored that fact and ran his fingers through the other’s hair.

“Shoosh,” he whispered, papping his face softly and watching as Mituna’s eyes slowly focused on him. He felt warms fingers touch his throat, a worried chirp quiet between them. Eridan swallowed against the pain in his throat before deciding not to push it talking just yet and giving a reassuring trill.

Mituna pulled back and looked at Eridan’s leg, his fingers moving to push the pant’s leg up to examine it but as soon as his hand touched it Eridan jerked and let out a pained whine. Tears pricked at his eyes and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. The other looked somewhere between concerned and enraged again, carefully gathering Eridan into his arms and shooting one last glare at the other psion before darting back into camp.

Eridan almost protested, praying he hadn’t just ruined something as Mituna brought him into the infirmary and set him on an empty cot. The crewmembers immediately sat up, concern carved onto their faces. Delias jumped, almost dropping the jar of herbs she was holding before she set it down and rushed to his side.

“What happened?”

“One of the other rebelth dethided to attack him,” Mituna hissed, his lip curling into a snarl.

“I- what? The Signless followers?”

He only gave a sharp nod, his jaw clenched.

Eridan forced himself to sit up, quietly telling her where he was injured. She spread a cooling salve on his throat and gave him some painkillers and tea before gently rolling up his pantleg and grimacing at the fresh swelling.

“I need to resplint it.” As before, Mituna held Eridan’s leg steady as she put a splint on it and wrapped it, the violet trying to keep as quiet as he could. Coryan made a sympathetic noise, though Marion growled at the entrance moments before Kaputi burst in, glaring at Eridan.

“What the fuck was that?”

Mituna took a step, but the bronze threw up a hand to block him. “No. I fucking need to know what’s going on. Why your _morail_ is apparently on the SECOND SIGNLESS’S CULL LIST!” He growled under his breath, shaking his head. “I should have culled him when we found him.”

Eridan felt something cold and heavy in his stomach, pressing closer to Mituna and feeling very sure that he was going to die soon. Whether Kaputi culled him himself or handed him to the other rebellion, he wasn’t going to last long.

Another voice rang from the entrance, loud and achingly familiar. “No one is culling anyone, shit fit,” Karkat growled from space, his bright eyes boring into Eridan for a moment before he glared at Kaputi. “Since things just got a whole lot more fucking complicated, I’ll be setting up camp nearby. But first I need to meet with these assholes somewhere quiet because apparently no one had the fucking thinkpan to tell me that you hadn’t just found the Psiioniic!”

Before Kaputi could argue, Karkat cut him off. “Now where the fuck can I talk to them.”

“…my tent ith available,” Mituna offered, his eyes locked on Karkat and his voice wary.

“Good. Be there in fifteen minutes,” he ordered, storming out of the tent. As soon as he was gone, Mituna slumped against him, his eyes firmly on the floor.

“…Mituna? What’s-“

“He lookth jutht like him…” came the pained answer, but Eridan didn’t get any elaboration as he was scooped into the other’s arms again. He tucked his face into the other’s chest, trying to rid himself of the feeling of impending doom.

The tent was still empty when they got there, the two of them sitting on the platform and waiting in anxious silence. Eridan leaned against Mituna, taking deep breaths as Mituna’s claws combed through his hair soothingly.

Karkat came in first, followed by Kaputi and…Sollux. Mituna stood abruptly, stepping between Eridan and the other psion.

“Get out.”

“Believe me, athhole, I don’t want to be around that traitor either. But KK thaid be here tho here I am!” Eridan flinched, his eyes tight.

“Now can someone explain what the fuck is going on here?” Karkat demanded, cutting off the building argument. “How the fuck did the finned wonder get here?”

Kaputi raised an eyebrow. “Like I said in the letter, a ship crashed into the lake a few miles away. The Helmsman had escaped the block and we captured some crew members.”

“Including a seadweller?”

“Well…he was the captain-“

Sollux let out a cold laugh through his teeth. “ A captain? Wow, Ampora. Bet that wath a nithe reward for thlaughtering her-“

“I didn’t kill her!” Eridan hissed suddenly, rage white hot in his chest.

“Oh really? Then why did you run? To brag to the Empreth, prove to her what a good Imperial tholdier you are?”

“Sollux, shut the fuck up!” Karkat shouted, turning his gaze to Eridan. “What the fuck do you mean, you didn’t kill her? We found the blood.”

“But no body, right?” he argued, feeling Mituna’s confused gaze on him. “I didn’t kill her and I sure didn’t run to the Empire!”

“Exthplain how you became a fucking captain then!” Sollux demanded, his good eye sparking again. “You were pithed becauthe she wouldn’t be your fucking matethprit and-“

“Maybe I was but I wouldn’t kill her!” Eridan practically shrieked. “You don’t know a damn thin, Captor! I don’t owe you anythin!”

“SHE WATH MY MATETHPRIT!”

“W-WELL SHE W-WAS MY MORAIL!”

They were screaming at each other at this point, Eridan’s fists clenched tightly enough to draw blood on his palms. One hand pulled a familiar pendant from his shirt, his thumb running across it to steady himself. A thin shot of sparks suddenly grabbed it, the chain around his neck snapping as it flew into Sollux’s hand.

“Captor don’t you fuckin dare!” Eridan growled, his voice growing higher. Mituna was standing now, but a hand on his arm kept him from making a move.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Sollux said, his eyes narrow. “You don’t detherve anything from her.” He dropped the pendant to the ground, crushing it under his heel. Shards of the shells flew out, a kick sending the photo fluttering into the air and the rings rolling across the ground.

Eridan screeched, launching himself at Sollux with his teeth and claws bared. A hand closed around his wrist, throwing him back to the platform.

Karkat was staring at him, still holding his arm. Eridan’s eyes were wet with tears as his rage faded into silent crying. The Vantas let him go, his eyes confused. It was strange to see on the troll.

“I thought we could talk this out like adults, but apparently I was fucking wrong. Sollux, get out of here.”

“Gladly,” the psion hissed, stalking out the door.

Kaputi was watching the situation warily but left as Karkat prompted him. As he began to follow them, Eridan caught his arm.

“…Kar- Vantas. I didn’t cull her. I swear that to you,” he pleaded, his chest tight enough to suffocate him.

Karkat frowned at him, his brow furrowed. “Then why’d you run?”

A pained expression crossed his face. “We both know that Captor would have culled me. Fe- she was the only reason anyone let me stay there.”

“Oh fuck that,” he growled, wrenching his arm away. “We were fucking friends! Didn’t that matter at all to you?!”

Eridan flinched back, his pusher clenching. “It meant everything! But I- I couldn’t go back-“

“Why?”

He was silent for a long moment, his eyes on the ground. “Because it was my fault she died,” he said, his voice breaking.

“You just said-“

“I didn’t cull her! But I- it’s my fault. I panicked…I’m sorry.” Karkat looked at him, almost seeming to reach out before pulling back.

“We’ll talk about this later.”

And with that he was gone.

Eridan felt the cold in his chest beginning to shatter, sharp pain spiraling into his chest as his eyes fell on the shards of the only thing he had left of her. Something in him broke and he sobbed loudly, pressing his hands to his face as his chest heaved. It was four sweeps of tears finally pouring out in ugly sobs that rocked his whole body.

His wails echoed in the tent, the tentative arms of the only troll he had left wrapping around him. With fists gripping the others shirt, he pressed his face into Mituna’s chest and let the warmth envelope him. His shoulders shook, his raw throat aching as he keened. He wondered if anyone else could hear him. He couldn’t bring himself to care.

Ever so slowly his sobbing ebbed, turning to hiccups as he went limp against the other troll. His arms wrapped around him, holding him tightly as he turned from screaming wails to quietly sniffling.

“…she wath your morail?” Mituna asked softly, his hands rubbing Eridan’s back in soothing circles. Eridan nodded, pulling back just far enough to search the floor. He spotted the photo, the rings glinting up from the dirt. Seeming to understand, soft sparks scooped them up and set them in the violet’s hands.

He turned the picture in his hands, his eyes tight. This was the closest to a feelings jam they had gotten but he didn’t think that mattered anymore. “We knew each other for as long as I could remember. Morails for almost that long. I…I was flushed for her for sweeps though. It wrecked things for a while and when this…rebellion popped up she pulled me into it. But…I couldn’t protect her. I couldn’t do anything but sit and watch as-“

Mituna pulled him close looking at the photo with a furrowed brow. Eridan handed it to him, sliding one ring onto each pinky finger. They were too small to fit any other finger, the gems glinting up at him. He looked up as he felt the other tense, a questioning look on his face.

Horror had spread across Mituna’s face, sparks twisting around his horns.

“Mituna?”

“She- she wath-“

Eridan’s expression fell a little. “The heiress?” he offered.

“Your morail wath the nextht Empreth?”

His gaze turned cold. “She was the kindest troll I’ve ever met,” he hissed, taking the picture back. “She wanted to turn this planet around and fix everything! Even if she couldn’t she wanted to fucking _try_!” He tried to scoot away, his hands shaking. He knew what the Empress had done to Mituna, terrified that this would ruin the unspoken thing between them.

Mituna’s hand was firm on his arm, his other hand forcing Eridan to look at him. The mismatched eyes searched his own for a moment, the pained horror fading. “I’m thorry,” he said softly, papping his cheek. “I…I underthtand what it’th like. To jutht…watch.”

Ancient scars brought pain to Mituna’s gaze, an expression Eridan almost couldn’t stand to see. Of course he understood. Eridan had read the books, the journals he found. He knew how that rebellion had ended.

He pulled Mituna into a tight hug, clenching his hands into fists that made the rings feel just a little bit tighter.

“…how’d she die?” Mituna asked carefully, sounding an even mixed of concerned and curious.

“…she offered to meet with another group. To prove that she truly wanted to help the rebellion. They demanded she go unarmed, so I went with her. But…” he shuddered, tears wetting his cheeks again. “It was an ambush. They…they culled her. I’m not sure why they left me alive, honestly. As a messenger? I ran, panicking. She was the only reason our group trusted me… but before I could really decide what to do…the recruitment drones caught me. I thought if I could get a high enough rank…maybe I could avenge her.”

He pressed his face into Mituna’s chest, taking deep breaths until his breathing was even. Exhaustion and pain covered him, the tired chirp that escaped him muffled by the other’s shirt. Still, Mituna seemed to hear it, helping him curl comfortably on his chest as he laid down and pulling the blanket over them.

Mituna’s sharp chin rested on top of his head, the sound of his blood pusher thrumming in Eridan’s fins as he matched the rise and fall of the other’s chest. Just as he started to drift off, a final question reached him.

“Who wath the group you were meeting with? Who killed her?”

Eridan took a shaky breath, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as he answered.

“The Followers of the Summoner.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry this took so long. I got caught up with other projects/stories of mine but I promise you this has not been forgotten or abandoned!

Mituna knew that Eridan wasn’t asleep, but he was quiet and had been for the past hour, remaining curled up as best he could under the blanket. The psion hovered over the edge of the platform, glancing at the photo still in Eridan’s grasp. His pusher was doing something funny as his mood wavered between wanting to comfort him and run away, the horror fading to a slight betrayal even he knew was ridiculous. Eridan insisted she was good, but all Mituna could see was the troll who slaughtered his friends and shoved him into a ship for all this time at least partly because he was _entertaining_.

How could anything good come from _her_?

He shook his head harshly, reminding himself that that was the exact kind of thought process he’d spent so many sweeps hearing his morail preach against. Bright red eyes shone in his mind as he thought of the endless compassion and forgiveness they had held, only feeling more reminded that he would never be able to do the same. He could never forgive her for what she had taken from him and… he could only hope Kankri wouldn’t have thought less of him for it.

It was still painful to think his name, a sharp pain squeezing at Mituna’s pusher as he did so. Of course, with the pain came the reminder that his descendant was close. The title of the “Second Signless” had irritated him at first as he wondered what kind of troll could possibly attempt to carry his legacy, to carry his message, but as soon as those bright eyes had met his, he understood. Who better to be known as the “Second Signless” than someone who looked just like him, bearing his blunt horns and blood, the sign stitched across his chest that of the chains that had haunted Mituna’s memories. Even his rough speech, though it was certainly more colorful than the Signless he was used to, held the same compassion that had caught his attention all those sweeps ago.

He paused in his musings, curiosity growing ever stronger as his thoughts wandered to who else would possibly be in his group. If the heiress herself had known him, had been among his friends as it had sounded, then who else could he possibly expect?

The quiet was getting to him as much as the curiosity was, finally dragging him from his place floating above the platform. Eridan barely shifted as he placed a hand on his shoulder, finally turning his face to meet Mituna’s when the yellowblood turned his shoulders toward him. There was an exhaustion in his gaze that Mituna wished he didn’t understand so deeply, his expression falling slightly as though he was about to hear bad news and had already resigned himself to it. Mituna wasn’t sure why the expression was there, but he barely stopped himself from running his claws through the others hair in an effort to ease it.

“I’m going to talk to the other camp-” Mituna could feel him flinch at their mention, that resignation only etching itself deeper into his face. It looked like he had given up, something Mituna hated as he told himself it was grief and guilt over his morail’s death. “-do you me to take you to the medic’th tent with the crew?”

Mituna tried not to sound like he didn’t trust Eridan alone, but the hollowness that had seemed to settle in after he’d explained what had happened to her made him nervous.

_The followers of the Summoner._

The words rang in his head again, but he shook them away. He would talk to the others, gather information, and wait until everyone was healed to make a move. If they needed to leave because of this there was no guarantee that anyone would help them, and they would have a much better chance at survival if more than half of the crew was uninjured.

Eridan nodded a little, his fins perking a little at the mention of the crew and Mituna felt a bit of relief to see it. He didn’t bother waiting to help him stand, scooping him into his arms and darting out the door. Eridan let out the tiniest squeak, his arms loosely wrapping around Mituna’s neck.

“Warn me a little next time,” he scolded him, though the slight irritation in him voice made the other feel a little better about leaving him.

Delias was changing the bandages on Marion’s face when they arrived, the sight making you grimace and look away. Eridan was quick to push his way out of Mituna's grip and sit on the nearest platform, patting his arm.

“I’ll be back thoon,” he promised, trying to ignore the way Eridan’s eyes tightened as he left. He couldn’t help but wonder exactly it was the other seemed to be bracing himself for.

The trolls that milled around camp all seemed to be whispering, many of them glancing toward Mituna as though he wouldn’t notice. He pretended not to, though it grew more irritating the closer he got to the other camp. It was much smaller than he expected, made up of three tents placed close together in the clearing. Something prickled at his mind, but he waved it off as the psion he knew was probably nearby as he brushed open the tent he could hear the loudest voices coming from.

Three trolls stood in the tent, two familiar and one that made his hair stand on end as he understood the prickling that had been creeping its way up his spine. The new troll stood taller than everyone but Mituna, though with his horns he surpassed him and he wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t done growing. Despite how tall he was, he was rail thin with baggy clothes that hung off his body like he was made of clothing hangers. His hair was thick and wild, springing out from his head like the mane of beast and framing his painted face. The paint made Mituna shiver, the thick smell of soda stronger than he’d like in his memory as he recalled every time the cultists had visited the flagship. Of course, he was less bloody than most of the ones he could remember, his shirt long-sleeved and loose until it reached his forearms, indigo strips of cloth wrapped tightly over the sleeves from his hands to his elbows, only leaving his thin fingers and long claws visible. His pants were covered in polka dots, the loose cloth poofing out from indigo boots that reached his knees. A set of clubs hung from his belt, but his expression was anything but threatening as his lidded eyes studied you and he only offered a sharp toothed grin.

“Hey,” he drawled, draping his arms around the much shorter troll beside him. “This motherfucker looks just like Solbro.”

The other troll made no move to push him away, his thick brows furrowing as irritation lit his gaze. He only came up to the indigo’s chest, his horns offering no assistance to his height at all. Wild black hair almost obscured his horns entirely, the teeth that were shown off as his lip curled up just as nubby as his horns. Despite his height, he doesn’t look delicate, lean muscle and small scars making it obvious he wasn’t unfamiliar with fighting. He wore an open military style jacket over a black turtleneck, the former dark grey with red highlights and the latter having a familiar sign sewn on in bright red that made Mituna pause. He was slightly shorter than Kankri had been, a scowl almost permanently etched into his face, but he still looked so much like him…

“What are you doing here?” a harsh voice ripped Mituna from his own thoughts and he glared at the troll he’d almost forgotten was there. Sollux, he was pretty sure that’s what this asshole’s name was, glared right back, his lip curling into a snarl.

“Sollux, cut it the fuck out. I know you’re in a pissy mood but-“

“Pithy mood?” he growls, his good eye glaring at Not-Kankri. “Thith prick fucking attacked me.”

“You attacked my morail,” Mituna hissed, watching the way Sollux tensed at the last word.

“We finally find that piethe of shit and-“

“Sollux,” Not-Kankri huffed, sounding like this was something he was used to. Mituna should really ask what his name was. “We don’t even know what the fuck happened.”

“It’th pretty fucking obviouth.”

“What if he’s telling the truth?”

“He’th not!”

“Just because you can’t pull your head out of your wastechute for _two fucking minutes_ so we can try to get answers doesn’t mean that you’re right! I’m not about to let you cull someone who might be innocent, no matter how big of a douche he is. We don’t cull people, Sollux.”

“But-“

“No! If he’s fucking lying, we can go from there but culling him isn’t going to bring her back!”

That shut Sollux up, but before Not-Kankri could say anything else there was a loud shout from outside the tent and he sighed.

“The hunters must be back,” he growled, putting his palm over the face of the indigo still draped over him and pushing him back. “Can I trust you two not to kill each other for five minutes?”

Mituna froze under the red gaze, but finally made himself nod. “I didn’t come here to thtart a fight.”

The glare turned to Sollux until he nodded as well, and Not-Kankri grabbed the indigo by the hand and dragged him out of the tent. “Come on, you sentient garbage fire,” he grumbled, but it sounded almost affectionate. As soon as they were gone, a heavy silence settled over the tent.

Mituna’s gaze turned to the other troll, who seemed to be glaring rather intensely at his hands. He was dressed in something similar to a flight-suit, the outfit one piece though there was a belt around his waist that could fool someone into thinking it was two. It had short sleeves and was black aside from the golden symbol. Mituna tried not to think about how the sign was the same as his own, the top stripe of color wrapping around his chest under his arms, the second made up by his belt with thin stripes connecting the two. From here, Mituna could see the circular scars along his arms, his hand pressing against his own bandages. Similar scars were at his temples and Mituna would bet there were even more along his spine. His anger fading into sympathy, he sighed softly and sat on a cloud of psionics near him.

“How long?”

Sollux’s head snapped up to look at him, his brows furrowing in confusion. “What?”

“How long were you helmed?”

A look of shock rippled across his face before reverting to caution as he sat up a little straighter. “How-“

“How do I know? Becauthe I fucking have eyeth,” Mituna said with a roll of said eyes. “You have port thcarth and a helm uniform. Tho how long were you helmed? Bathed on the uniform I’m going to gueth it wathn’t on a ship.”

His jaw clenched for a moment. “It’th none of your buthineth.”

“Maybe, but I know better than anyone what that’th like. Tho…if you need to talk about it, ath annoying ath you are, I’ll lithten.”

He rolled his eyes but sighed and looked away. “It wath about a thweep in an on-planet cadet tranthport vethel. After Captain DoucheFinth dithappeared we went looking for anthwerth. I found droneth inthtead.”

Mituna ignored the insult, wondering briefly if Sollux had always been this antagonistic about him or if this was all a result of the…situation with the heiress. The thought made him pause, again remembering what Eridan had told him. Should he-

Any thought he could have had was cut off as the tent entrance opened, Not-Kankri ducking back in, though he was clownless this time, with two new trolls at his side. The sight of them made Mituna’s breath catch in his lungs, his eyes wide as he stared at the trolls who were entirely new but far too familiar. The one on Not-Kankri’s left stood at about the same height as him, her horns just a bit longer and more pointed than his. Her hair was tucked under a bright blue hat that resembled a purrbeast, the ends of it flipping up around her shoulders. She was made entirely of lean, coiled muscle that made her look ready to pounce, the long claws emerging from the back of her gloves combining with a few flecks of blood on her cheek to make her look even more intimidating. She wore a black tank top with her sign curling around her shoulders, a pair of cargo pants tucked into combat boots and an olive jacket tied around her waist. A blue tail twitched behind her, conveying the curiosity that shone in her wide olive eyes.

On his other side stood a troll about a head taller than him, her gaze also curious but somehow more reserved.  Her hair was short and neat, framing her face elegantly. Her skin seemed to glow slightly, fangs that seemed longer than normal peeking past her lips. Perfectly manicured claws glinted from the hands that were clasped in front of her as she studied you. She wore a black shirt that was tucked into a high waisted red skirt, though she seemed to be wearing a jade colored long sleeve under the other shirt.

“Rosa? Dis?” Mituna whispered without thinking before shaking his head and reminding himself that they were dead and however much the trolls in front of him might resemble them, they weren’t them.

The jade stepped forward first, holding out her hand towards Mituna. He almost felt as though she was sizing him up, but he shook her hand anyway.

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” she said in a pleasant voice. “My name is Kanaya.”

“Mituna,” he replied, praying his voice wouldn’t falter as his emotions screamed in the back of his mind. Part of him was elated to know that their legacies had lived on in their descendants, but the other was trying to drag him into his memories.

“I am sorry for how your first impression of our little group went. I can assure you that we are not usually that volatile.” She paused and glanced at Not-Kankri. “Well…”

“Oh, fuck you, Maryam.”

“Comments like that do not help your case, Karkat,” she said, sounding more than a little amused.

“I am the gogdamned living, breathing fucking _embodiment_ of composure and you know it.”

“Of course.”

The olive giggled and bounded forward as soon as Kanaya let go of Mituna’s hand, hooking her claw gloves at her waist before holding out a hand.

“Hello, Mewtuna!” She chirped in a voice far to bright and cheerful for someone with a beast’s blood still on her hands and face. “I’m Nepeta! It’s nice to meet mew! It’s not furry often I get to meet mew people!”

The puns almost made Mituna groan, but even they were making him nostalgic. “Tho ith thith the part where you bring a bunch of people for me to meet?”

Karkat rolled his eyes. “As if. Everyone here has a job to do, these two fucknuggets need Sollux to lift something. Even though I’m pretty sure I told someone not to kill anything she couldn’t carry back herself because there are only ten of us here and we don’t need a fucking skyscraper of meat to cure that’s probably going to end up back at base camp because someone decided to feed us a bigger bite than we could fucking chew.” He looked at Nepeta, who stuck her tongue out at him.

“It attacked me first,” she stated simply, beckoning the psion toward her. “Come on, Pawllux!”

Karkat grumbled as the two tried to leave, only to bump into someone sweeping into the tent much more dramatically than necessary.

“Watch where you’re going, Captor,” a new voice huffed. “Honestly, and I thought you couldn’t get any ruder.”

“Oh, fuck off, VK.”

“Don’t get pissy with me just because you don’t have any common decency. Geez, you try to do one nice thing and suddenly this happens. Makes me wonder if I should even give these to our, _dear leader._ ”

Sollux growled, pushing past the new figure and stalking outside.

“Why are you so upset? Oh, right, you got your ass handed to you by the better Captor, right?” She dragged out letters as she spoke, sounding sarcastic with every word. A burst of sparks barely missed her, a cloud of dirt appearing beside her as the bit of ground burst apart. Instead of looking intimidated at all, she simply blew a kiss in Sollux’s direction and let the tent door fall shut before turning to the others.

“Vriska, why the fuck do you insist on being the most absolute piece of shit to everyone around you?”

“Aw, Karkat, you’re so sweet.” She drawled, putting a hand on her hip. She was skinny, though not as bony as Sollux or the clown from earlier. She wore a blue, pirate like coat over a black shirt and gray pants with a bright red belt and matching knee-high boots. One of the sleeves to her coat was missing, showing off the fact that that arm was completely metallic. The intricate robotics were impressive, but Mituna doubted she did those herself. Even more impressive was what had replaced her eye on the same side as her metal arm. The ‘eye’ was metal as well, with seven pinpricks of red light as its pupils. Wires and metal plating swept into her hairline, where half of her head was shaved to make way for the mechanics. Still, she wore a pair of glasses, probably for her still organic eye. She pulled out a second pair of glasses and tossed them at Karkat, who fumbled but caught them. “You’re lucky I’m just so generous that I’m willing to give these up.”

“Fucking finally,” he growled, though Mituna was starting to understand that angry was just his default setting. He ignored whatever Vriska was rambling about, turning and holding the glasses out to Mituna.

Mituna stared at them in confusion, though he took them.

Karkat seemed to catch the expression. “Captain Finface had the same prescription as SpiderBitch over here last time we checked. He didn’t have his glasses and she has more than enough extras, especially considering she has a fucking _bionic eye with enhanced vision_ , but apparently shitty glasses are her aesthetic.”

“Oh, fuck off, Nubs,” she huffed, blowing a lock of hair out of her face. The non-shaved part of her hair fell to her waist in thick waves that she dramatically tossed over her shoulder. “Come on, Psiioniic.”

Mituna raised an eyebrow at her, watching as she groaned and held the tent door open.

“I am trying to be polite,” she insisted, ignoring as Karkat burst into laughter. “You need to take those to your pale-pal and I have a few questions for the violet wonder.” She paused. “They’re… mostly harmless. I can promise that much.”

Mituna was hesitant, but she seemed like the type to tag along even if he refused so he just sighed and floated out of the tent, holding the glasses loosely in one hand. Karkat warned Vriska to behave as they left, something that made her grumble for most of the journey back.

Vriska flopped down on the platform as Mituna went to get Eridan from the infirmary. As soon as he stepped inside, he was greeted by the sight of Eridan with several small blossoms in his hair, more of the same being braided into Marion’s hair by Coryan as Bruete watched in amusement. Apparently, there was a bush not far from here that was covered with them and the teal had insisted that he could weave them into a crown. Of course, he couldn’t but at that point he had just started putting them in the other’s hair. Mituna thought he was just trying to cheer everyone up and appreciated the effort.

Eridan didn’t let himself be carried this time, instead limping beside Mituna all the way to the tent. He had perked up at the glasses, though when he realized who’s they were he grimaced. Nevertheless, he put them on and Mituna could see the way his face relaxed a bit. At least now he could properly see.

Once they stepped into the tent, Eridan tensed as Vriska suddenly leaped up and stood in front of him, her finger pointing a single claw right in his face.

“Where is it?”

“Where’s what?” Eridan answered, sounding bewildered.

She rolled her eyes but gave him a sharp-toothed grin.

“Ahab’s Crosshairs!”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this took me a while I'm so sorry about that!   
> This chapter will contain a couple of my friends OCs, which she so graciously let me use!

Eridan frowned, his eyes trained on the claw almost touching his nose for only a moment before turning his glare to the troll pointing it at him. His lip curled up a little and he bared his fangs, knocking her hand aside. The pinpricks of red that made up one of her eyes seemed to glint as she smirked at him, her hands going to her hips as one of her bright red boots tapped against the ground.

“Weeeeeeeeeeell?” she said, drawing out the word and raising a brow at him. “Don’t tell me you lost it, Ampora.”

“I didn’t lose it!” he snapped, his fins flaring and flicking at her aggressively. He sat on the platform to ease the pressure on his injured knee, straightening his spine and shifting away from Mituna with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He knew how vicious Vriska could be, unwilling to give her any ammunition that she could use against him.

“Then where is it? It’s not a hard question,” she huffed, stepping forward until she was towering over him. She was about his height normally, but from where he was sitting she was about a head taller than him. His claws dug into the rough blankets beneath him as he met her eyes with a fierce glare.

“Why do you care?” he asked. “It’s not like you were ever strong enough to wield it.”

A deep growl rattled for a moment in her chest before she flipped her hair over her shoulder and tried to pretend nothing he’d said had bothered her. Her lip stuck out in a dramatic pout as she quickly switched tactics, her hands settling on her hips as she rolled her eyes at him.

“Eridaaaaaaaan,” she almost whined, though he was sure she’d deny that description. “I thought you’d take better care of your _ancestor’s_ weapon. What? The great Dualdouche’s legacy doesn’t matter now that you’re a blood traitor?”

Eridan snarled, standing despite his injured leg. It was probably only momentary rage that kept him from immediately collapsing, pain sparking through his leg and raking in sharp flames up even to his side. Nausea rolled in his stomach, but he grit his sharp teeth and hissed through them instead.

“Oh, like you’re any different, Serket.” He was starting to remember why he’d been black for her, resenting how easy it was for her to get under his skin after all these sweeps. It almost felt like nothing had changed and … at the very least that was nice.

“Ah, ah, ah,” she tutted, wagging a finger at him with her artificial pupils glinting in the artificial light of the tents lamp. “That’s where you’re wrong. Mindfang was never an Imperial barkbeast, unlike a certain Orphaner. To be honest, I’m surprised you didn’t go after the title. You had plenty of experience, didn’t you?” Her voice made the question sound almost sweet, but it made Eridan bristle.

“I hope you realize that this isn’t gettin you anywhere. Why do you want the gun, Serket? Like I said, it’s not like you can use it.”

Vriska huffed at his words. “Gog, you’re so boring, Eridan. Why do you always suck the fun out of everything? See, this is why we never would have worked. I need someone who can actually give me a challenge.”

He rolled his eyes, though he had to admit that her picking at old wounds still stung. “Ugh, like I haven’t been over that since I was six. Either find a ‘worthy rival’ or don’t, just shut up about it and answer my fuckin question.”

Instead, she grinned wolfishly at him in a way that made him want to pin his fins back, though he only narrowed his eyes at her. “There’s no ‘do or don’t’ about it, Eridork. I’ve found a rival who can keep up with me waaaaaaaay better than you ever could. Aren’t you even a little curious?”

It was hard to keep his face straight, but it didn’t matter much when his fins perked up curiously like the expressive traitors they are. The way her eyes lit up made him feel very much like he’d lost a game of something he’d never agreed to be part of.

“Of course you are. You and Nubby used to gossip for hours about this sort of shit, didn’t you? But I guess you can’t do that when you aren’t even friends anymore, right?”

Eridan was proud that he didn’t flinch, only tensing slightly and acting like his voice didn’t waver when he hissed at her. “Get on with it, Serket. Just whose life have you so graciously decided to ruin?”

“Awwwwwwwwww,” she purred, waving a hand at him in a way that made him want to snap at it. “You don’t have to try so hard to flirt. I’m very happy with my current kismeisis. I mean, who knew Captor could be such a competent rival?”

There was a silence that filled the tent at that point, heavy as Eridan processed the information. He blinked a few times, slowly as his brows raised in surprise. Of course, Vriska had trouble not talking for even that second and immediately added a barb, as if realizing a breath had gone by without her being a bitch.

“That’s, what, two quadrants he’s snatched from you? Just hope that I don’t end up like the last one.”

That was the last straw and Eridan openly hissed at her, a deep growl rattling in his chest, deeper than anything a cerulean could produce. She seemed a little caught off guard, clearly having not expected that to set off his rage. Mituna stayed on the platform, even seeming to lean back a little. The only sign that the yellowblood was prepared to break up a possible fight was the psionics that danced around the room, but honestly those barely caught Eridan’s attention at all.

He stalked forward, practically able to feel the red tinging his eyes with every agonizing step, until his nose was almost touching the other trolls. “Listen to me very carefully, Serket. I get that bein a huge bitch it kinda your thin and all, but if you say another word about Fef I will personally make sure that Zahhak has another limb to replace. So, either tell me what the fuck you want with my ancestor’s gun or get the fuck out of my tent.”

She gaped for a moment before fixing her expression and placing a hand on his chest to push him back. “Ugh, fine, fine, Fishbreath. No need to be so touchy. It’s been, what? Four sweeps? Get over it already.”

Before he could even get out a growl, she huffed and continued. “I was _trying_ to ask where it was so that none of these little trigger-happy rebels get their grubby mitts on it. Like, geez, it’s almost like they forget that their precious Summoner was matesprites with a highblood.”

Eridan frowned but took a deep breath. “Even if they knew where it was, I doubt they could get to it. It’s at the bottom of the lake with the rest of the ship.”

Her eyes widened and she stared at him. “Wha- that’s even worse, you fucking idiot!”

His look of confusion apparently required no explanation, because she let out a deep sigh. “There is no way that the Empress won’t send scouts to salvage the ship, especially a ship with her _former personal battery_ on it! If she gets her hands on that fucking weapon that’s just one more advantage she has. Great job, finface! Fuck.” She glared at him. “We have to get that tonight.”

“And how are we supposed to do that?” He demanded, sheer force of will keeping his glare sharp.

“You have gills, genius!”

A deep, aching fear shot though his gut at that, his gills aching as he scrambled for some excuse. Oh well, when all else fails, there’s always drama.

He pressed a hand to his chest, looking almost offended. “And you expect me to go in that filthy lake after a ship crash? I’m a salt water highblood, for one. Not to mention the amount of oil and other garbage that you land dwellers have probably filled it with. You couldn’t pay me to let that lake water touch my gills.”

Vriska studied his face for a moment, disbelief written clear across hers. “You can’t be serious.” When his gaze remained steady, she groaned loudly. “Fine, fine, you know what? I’m going with you, since apparently you couldn’t give a shit if someone touches your gun. And because I’m just so fucking generous, I’ll escort you to Equius to get you a rebreather so you can keep your delicate gills clean. Honestly, the things I do…” she trailed into grumbling as she stalked out of the tent, storming through the camp without even a glance back to make sure the seadweller was following, though of course he was.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and instinctively pulled away from it, trying to force his breathing to steady.

Mituna’s hand pulled back, though it still hovered close to the violet. “You don’t have to-“

“Yes, I do,” he hissed, forcing his fins to pry themselves from the sides of his head. “She’s a bitch but she’s right. I can’t let anyone get their hands on the Crosshairs.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No. I’ll be fine-“

“What about your leg?”

Eridan winced. “I’ll talk to Delias before we leave…probably.” He dragged his claws through his hair, taking a few deep breaths. He thought of the cold water rising over his gills, filling his lungs as he struggled desperately for a breath. A deep pain tightened in his chest as he forced down all of the panic and fear that was trying so insistently to break him.

Mituna looked a little hurt, but Eridan pretended he didn’t notice. He could either admit to how scared he really was, or he could get this done. The psion wasn’t far behind as they followed Vriska and though Eridan felt the gentle familiarity of the psionics that supported him, the sparks remained nearly invisible.

Surprisingly, Vriska had stopped by a nearby tent, giving them a look of utter annoyance for making her wait.

“Do you really need an escort?” Vriska huffed, flicking her hair over her shoulder and sauntering to meet them.

“I might not, but you do,” Eridan sneered back.

Her mouth fell open just a little and she stormed after him when he started through the camp, though he wasn’t exactly sure where the other camp was. “And why would that be, Ampora? _I’m_ actually part of something, instead of being some battery’s pet captain.”

Eridan bared his teeth at her. “And that’s exactly why you’re not allowed to wander around on your own. I’m surprised Ter didn’t tag along with you, or did she get sick of being your handler?”

“Ter?” Mituna asked curiously, glaring a little at Vriska still.

The violet glanced back at him. “Terezi Pyrope. Last I knew, she mostly kept Vriska from getting herself culled pissing off the wrong person.”

A look of confusion turned to recognition, then barely restrained amusement as a snicker escaped from his crooked fangs.

“Tho you’re telling me that Mindfang’th and Redglare’th dethendant’th are thome kind of morailth?”

Vriska’s face colored bright blue as she stomped one red boot. “We are not morails!”

Eridan raised an eyebrow pointedly. “Oh really?” He gave Mituna a look. “What’s so funny?”

“I thaw the recordingth of Mindfangth trail. If she knew her dethendant wath pale for Redglare’th, she’d lothe her shit.”

Vriska simply growled at the other trolls, grumbling to herself about how not pale she was for Terezi as the other rebel camp began to come into view. Karkat caught sight of them from where he was talking to Kanaya at the entrance of a tent, though Eridan refused to meet their eyes as Vriska led them into the tent of a familiar blueblood.

Equius had his hair pulled out of his face and was fiddling with a knee joint of a heavily plated robotic leg, Nepeta watching from her perch on a mostly empty worktable. Vriska swiped her hand over the space beside him, grinning sharply as she knocked dozens of metallic pieces onto the ground, so she could lean across the table.

“Serket, what is it that you require?” Equius said after a moment, the slight dent appearing in the metal in his hand the only sign of his irritation.

“Rebreathers. Lamepora lost his gun at the bottom of the lake and we need to get it back.”

Equius glanced back at Eridan. “So, one for you, I assume? And one for his…morail?”

Vriska rolled her eyes. “And one for the finned asshole himself. Apparently, lake water isn’t good enough for his precious gills. This is the only way he’ll show me where the damn thing is.”

“Where what is?” A hoarse voice interjects from the entrance of the tent. “Vriska, you know you can’t just enact plans without talking to be first. Don’t make me sic Terezi on you. Or hell, I’ll fucking make it extra special and pair you with Tavros on the next mission. And he’ll be team captain. Don’t think I won’t I am not even in the realm of fucking around tonight.”

Karkat glared at Eridan. “And what the actual fuck are you doing here?”

Eridan winced a little as Vriska shoved herself between them. “I am being proactive, our dear fearless leader,” she drawled sarcastically. “Ampora’s gun is at the bottom of the lake and we’re going to get it.”

Karkat looked at her skeptically before glancing at Mituna, then Eridan. The violet shrugged.

“As much as I hate to admit it, Serket’s right. It could actually give us an advantage and we can’t afford to lose a weapon that powerful.”

Karkat’s glare deepened. “And what fucking makes you think I trust you with that fucking weapon either? Do you think I was hatched yesterday you little shit?”

He winced a little, though he could understand the apprehension. “I’m not keeping it, just retrieving it. It’s my ancestor’s weapon and a legacy of my bloodline, so I don’t want it to end up pointed at me, is all.”

“Who are you entrusting it to? Certainly not her.” He looked pointedly at Vriska, who looked offended.

“What did I do?”

She was ignored as Eridan frowned a little. “I was going to entrust it to the you, Kar. Look, I know we ain’t friends anymore, but you’re the one I know mostly likely won’t shoot me with it as soon as I hand it over. ‘Sides Tuna, of course, but I don’t want it anywhere in the other camp.”

“How is Nubs more trustworthy than me?” Vriska demanded.

Eridan leveled her with a blank look. “ Vris, I would rather hand the Crosshair’s to Makara than let you touch it. I barely trust you with your own ancestor’s weapon.”

Karkat still looked dubious about the whole thing but waved his hand and left the tent as Equius handed the three of them rebreathers, as well as a cover for his gills. Eridan tried not to look to obviously relieved as he put it on, though Vriska certainly wasn’t paying any attention to him as they started through the trees.

The woods around the camp were thick, the rustling of fauna around them making Eridan’s fins prick constantly as they trudged between the trees. Though the lake was about an hour’s journey away on foot, they only made it ten minutes before Mituna declared it too slow and scooped up the entire group, weaving through the forest at a much higher speed.

Vriska yelped when her feet left the ground, immediately trying to pretend she hadn’t as she crossed her arms and watched the trees fly past. Eridan trusted Mituna not to slam him into a tree, closing his eyes and hoping this would be over soon so he could go back to avoiding the water and dealing with the headache that at settled in the base of his horns.

When his feet landed on the soft sand of the beach, he looked out over the water. He could feel his gills curling under the covers, an ache settling at the sides of his neck. Vriska pulled her hair up with a tie and he paused.

“Is your arm waterproof?”

Vriska glared at him, irritation seeming to curl her lip. “Of course it is. Do you really think I would have come with you if it wasn’t?”

“Seems like something you mighta forgot if you’re tryin to prove a point,” he shot back, wading into the water. He tried not to shake as the cool water lapped at his legs, gritting his teeth before diving in.

He opened his eyes to look around, his secondary lids sliding into place to let him see more clearly. The lake water was clearer than he would have expected, the taste of freshwater strange but not unpleasant on his tongue. Eridan double checked that the rebreather was secure, taking a deep breath and beginning to swim toward the deepest part of the lake. He could see the places where bits of moonlight cut into the water and glinted off the sharp points of the remains of the ship that rested on the bed of the lake.

Without checking to see if the others were following him, he dove deeper. Working gills or not, swimming was natural for him, maneuvering through the water as easily as any fish as he darted between the pieces of jagged metal. He could see the body of the ship before him, a hole torn in the side like the maw of a beast. The feeling of something moving behind him made him turn quickly, his fins flaring, though they relaxed when he saw the familiar red and blue eyes that seemed to glow even here. Vriska wasn’t too far behind, however, and she impatiently waved at them until Eridan swam into the waiting ship.

The hallways were crushed and torn apart, but still visible enough to give him a sense of where they were. Where they needed to go. He pushed himself through barely there openings in piles of rubble on his way to the helmsblock, only occasionally pausing to help the others through. At this point he was almost numb with panic, the feeling of the water pressing on him from all sides forcing him to focus on the task before him for any hope of staying sane.

Relief burst in fireworks through his veins when he caught sight of the destroyed entrance to the former helmsblock, pushing him to swim faster and start digging through the rubble. His claws raked through sand and bits of metal, though it didn’t take long before the legendary rifle was in his hands. If he’d been on land, the purr in his chest would have been obvious. As much as he’d tried to ignore the pain of losing it, this gun was more important to him than he was willing to admit.

Vriska rolled her eyes as the way he protectively held it away from her, not letting either of the other trolls hold it on the way back to the surface. Once they had broken the surface, Eridan ripped the rebreather off of his face and sucked in a lungful of fresh air and glanced around.

That had almost been too easy. Still, Vriska’s insistence on holding it ‘as the escort’ quickly tore him from that thought. He hissed territorially at her and held it closer as they stalked back into the woods, shaking off the eerie feeling of being watched, though there was nothing he could see to watch them.

***************

Paresp drummed her fingers against the metal desk, the sound of her claws ringing though the small space. She was used to the larger space of her own ships control block, watching the shoulders of her underling’s tense as the soft, almost musical clinking of her claws drove her irritation into the part of their brains that instinctively feared her.

It could be as effective as the loud dressing downs she was known for.

Less fun, but effective.

At the moment, however, she was only showing her impatience to herself and it was only serving to piss her off faster.

The bright screen in front of her was the only thing serene about the room, the surface of the lake calm, as it had been since the last time the camera had passed over it. If the ship had crashed here, why couldn’t they just go down and retrieve it.

Not that she would ever question the Empress, but it she wanted her battery back, Paresp didn’t dee why they were scouting the area above the lake.

The sound of the block door sliding open made her look up, her expression barely masking her disdain as an almost trembling olive blood shuffled through the doorway. His horns swooped back like the flattened ears of a scared purrbeast. Appropriate, considering the way his own ears were folded back, his eyes widened slightly. He was trying to stand straight, though his shoulders fell as Paresp raised an eyebrow at him.

“I have the current progress report,” he said, his voice impressively not wavering.

“Which is?” Paresp let her irritation seep into her voice, watching as his ears pressed even closer to his head.

“Um…there has been no activity found by the cameras or our other scouts. We will monitor the lake’s surface until the next scouting rounds of the surrounding forest…” he trailed off as Paresp stood slowly, a small chirp sounding involuntarily in his throat.

“Do you think I don’t know that?” she said with a hiss, the tension of her voice like a snake poised to strike.

“I-I- um-“

“I know there’s been no fucking progress!” she snapped, her fins flaring. “And do you know how I know that?”

The olive was stammering, his shoulders hunching down.

“Because none of you little shits have come in here to let me know that. Unless you’re telling me you’d wait until the next damn ‘progress report’ if something happened?”

“Of course not!” he squeaked, clutching his papers to his chest.

“And I am looking at the same screen as the rest of you! So, get the fuck out of my sight and don’t so much as walk by my door unless something comes out of that damned lake!” She ended the command with a growl that sent the olive scurrying out of the room.

The door shut and Paresp sat in her chair as angrily as she could, an irritated rattle filling her chest as she tried to resist the hurl the husktop into the wall. She was going to lose her mind if she continued like this, her claws not leaving lines in the metal as she viciously typed with her other hand.

tacticalCoiffeur [TC] began trolling comatoseAnecdotalist [CA]

TC: Catala. What are you doing?

CA: ~nm bae~

CA: ~wyd~

TC: …why do you have to do thisss?

CA: ~do what~

TC: Not actually typing wordsss.

CA: ~¯\\_(ツ)_/¯~

TC: Thatsss not an anssswer.

TC: You ssshould be more professssssional.

TC: Essspecially when I’m not there.

CA: ~+ that’s a lotta s’s pary~

TC: No it’sss not.

TC: But I’m ssseriousss. You ssshould be more professsssssional.

CA: ~w/e~

TC: DON’T W $$$LA$$$H E ME

TC: IM NOT THERE IF $$$OMETHING HAPPEN$$$

CA: ~paresp????~

CA: ~you ok?~

TC: I’m fine.

CA: ~sounds fake~

CA: ~seriously what’s wrong?~

TC: I’m jussst sssick of being ssstuck on thisss ssship.

TC: I AM A FUCKING LIEUTENANT

TC: I $$$HOULD NOT BE GRUB$$$ITTING AN EMPRE$$$$$$ DAMNED LAKE BECAU$$$E $$$OME VIOLET BRAT COULDN’T KEEP $$$OME UPPITY CERULEAN UNDER CONTROL.

CA: ~SHOOOOOOOOSH~

TC: I

CA: ~shoosh~

CA: ~don’t make me come to that ship~

TC: You don’t know where we are.

CA: ~ill find out~

CA: ~i will find you~

CA: ~and i will shoosh you~

TC: …what?

TC: Isss thisss sssome new obscure reference?

TC: Because it sssoundsss like you’re referencing something

CA: ~lol~

CA: ~maybe~

CA: ~and it sounds like your s’s are calming down~

TC: What reference isss it?

CA: ~its from the new thing im archiving~

TC: The alien frequency?

CA: ~ye~

CA: ~the bit im doin now is from a story of some sort~

CA: ~maybe some sort of grub book?~

CA: ~its weird tho, b/c its like an ancestor going after someone who culled or took his descendant?~

TC: Weird.

CA: ~ikr~

CA: ~so how about we get back to you~

TC: Or you could tell me more about the alien ssshit.

CA: ~nope lol~

CA: ~u should talk~

TC: No.

CA: ~come on~

CA: ~what u need?~

CA: ~u want~

CA: ~some pap?~

TC: What?

CA: ~or maybe a stick?~

CA: ~b/c in the words of the probably ancient alien tomes~

CA: ~bitches love sticks~

TC: I regret so many things.

CA: ~but seriously~

CA: ~i can’t help if you don’t talk to me~

TC: …

TC: I’m just frussstrated.

TC: I shouldn’t be gone for thisss long.

TC: Not that I would question the Empress

TC: But I have other responsibilities

CA: ~pary~

CA: ~you know im fine right?~

TC: …

CA: ~im just doing my job~

CA: ~nothing bad will happen~

TC: You don’t know that.

CA: ~shoosh~

CA: ~ill be here when u get back~

CA: ~and well do something fun~

TC: I suppose.

CA: ~hell maybe well even do something~

CA: ~romantic~

CA: ~*waggles eyebrows*~

TC: …we’re never romantic.

CA: ~aw pary~

CA: ~im hurt~

TC: Quoting alien references at me isn’t romantic.

CA: ~but it was from a love story!~

CA: ~as far as we can tell anyway~

TC: Doesn’t count.

CA: ~well its not like youre super romantic either~

TC: I can be perfectly romantic!

CA: ~uh huh~

TC: I can!

CA: ~bet~

TC: You’re the most important person in my life and I’m happy I get to be with you.

CA: ~awwwwww~

CA: ~swoon~

CA: ~pale for you too~

TC: I’d do anything for you.

CA: ~anything?~

TC: Anything.

CA: ~then perish~

TC: THI$$$ I$ WHY WE CAN’T BE ROMANTIC!

CA: ~im jk~

CA: ~u know id do anything 4 u 2~

TC: Would you type like a rational troll?

CA: ~um…rude~

CA: ~im wounded~

CA: ~seriously tho~

CA: ~pale for you~

TC: …

TC: I’m pale for you too.

TC: Wait what was that?

CA: ~what?~

Paresp heard the sharp trill of an alarm and her head snapped up, her eyes wide as the olive from before burst into the room.

“Captain!” he squeaked, breathing heavily. “We’ve spotted three figures emerging from the lake.”

Paresp looked at her screen, a wicked grin spreading over her face as she watched the trolls trudging to the trees. The shortest had an obvious limp, ripping off what looked like a rebreather with violet fins flaring. Sparks cushioned his steps, the tallest figure wrapping an arm around him. A blue gun sat in the violet’s hands though the cerulean next to the pair kept reaching for it.

They disappeared into the woods as Paresp turned back to her chat.

TC: $orry.

TC: $hit just went down.

CA: ~go get em babe~

tacticalCoiffeur [TC] ceased trolling comatoseAnecdotalist [CA]

Paresp pressed the glowing button next to her screen, for once not flinching at the voice that answered.

“This had baiter be good.”

The violet looked back at the screen, fangs bared in a grin.

“My Empress, we’ve got them.”


End file.
